


Let’s Blow This Thing And Go Home

by strangeandcharm



Series: Everything Is Awesome [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Consent Issues, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-12-16 22:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21043631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: NOW COMPLETE!NOW COMPLETE!NOW COMPLETE! Sequel toTemper & Temperance. With everybody seemingly falling apart around him, it’s up to Dean to put an end to the pain. But finding peace for himself, his brother and Castiel is harder than it looks... and there’s still someone out to get them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At last! This is the final story of the _Everything Is Awesome_ series.

* * *

Sam slept for 14 hours straight. At first Dean stayed with him, dozing awkwardly in a nearby chair, until morning came and he realized his brother wasn’t waking up any time soon. 

When he went into the kitchen in search of coffee, he found Castiel had beaten him to it. He looked worse than Dean felt, his face pale and eyes bloodshot.

“Hey,” Dean grunted, voice hoarse. “Where’s Rowena?”

“She left, along with her feather.” Castiel’s lips curled into a rueful smile. “I think she enjoyed helping Crowley more than she enjoyed finally being paid. Now he owes her.”

“Huh. And we all know it’s never good to owe a witch.” Dean poured a mugful of coffee and sat down opposite Castiel, yawning. 

“How is Sam?” asked Castiel.

“Dead to the world.” 

“I suppose that makes sense, given his ordeal.”

Dean thought of the blood he’d wiped off his brother’s skin during the night and felt his jaw clench. It was over. He had him back. Everything would be fine. But then he eyed his companion, taking in how wrung-out he looked. 

“How are _you_ feeling, Cas?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Sore. Tired. Hungry. Human.”

“Seems about right,” Dean acknowledged, hiding a smile. Castiel’s irritation at being human was always weirdly hilarious. He’d somehow managed to say it without making it sound as though he was feeling sorry for himself; instead it came out sounding like he was criticizing humanity as a whole. “Need me to look at your wound? Those stitches probably need a couple more days before they come out.”

“As do yours,” Castiel returned, nodding at the cut on Dean’s forehead. “But no, I checked them earlier. No sign of infection. Healing well. Just very sore.”

Dean nodded in sympathy. They sat in silence for a few minutes, both lost in contemplation and taking the occasional gulp of coffee.

“I can’t believe it worked,” Dean finally said, feeling a wave of relief rush over him for the hundredth time. “The odds were stacked against us, but we got him back.”

“Do you think Sam will be okay?”

“He’ll be traumatized, I guess. We’ll see once he wakes up. I doubt he’ll get over this any time soon.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “That would stand to reason.”

Dean studied him for a moment or two. “Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks. For staying.”

“I wasn’t much help,” Castiel said, meeting his eyes. “But I wasn’t a hindrance, either.”

“It meant a lot that you stayed. It always does.”

“Of course I stayed. Sam is family.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something else, automatically putting a hand on Castiel’s arm... 

...and Castiel reacted as if he’d been scalded. He jerked away from him, wincing as the movement yanked at his shoulder.

They both froze, stunned. 

“Sorry,” Dean said, at exactly the same moment that Castiel said it to him.

They froze again.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Castiel said sheepishly, after a few heartbeats. “Sometimes I just... react. I can’t seem to stop it. It’s been worse since I lost my grace.”

Dean remembered the mess Castiel had been in when they’d brought him home from that cellar. Wow, that seemed like such a long time ago now... but it also felt raw, like it was yesterday. Once, in a frosty meadow during a sunset, Castiel had told him his imprisonment was in the past and that he was over it. Since the death of the Sluagh – and becoming human – it was becoming more and more clear that no, Castiel really wasn’t. 

“I guess it’s part of the PTSD,” Dean suggested, although at the same time he couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit hurt. He’d only _touched_ him, for crying out loud.

Castiel studied him for a few moments, narrowing his eyes, then looked away. “I need to find that angel. She has my grace. If she still has it, I want it back. And she needs to pay for helping that demon take Sam.”

Dean shrugged. “No argument from me. That’s one feathery ass that needs to be kicked.”

“I think...” He trailed off, gazing into space. 

Dean waited.

“I think she was the reason I was held captive for so long,” Castiel finished, his voice deepening.

“Well, yeah,” Dean said, feeling strangely cautious about the turn this conversation was taking. “Sam said she betrayed you to the demons.”

“No, not just that. The whole time I was... _there_, there was one thing I couldn’t understand: why didn’t the angels rescue me? They knew I was missing and they had ways to locate me, but they didn’t. I eventually came to assume that they just didn’t care.” He looked into his coffee, frowning. “I know my relations with Heaven have often been fraught, but that seemed particularly cruel of them. Yet now... now I think perhaps this angel was keeping me hidden. She warded me against celestial eyes. She didn’t _want_ them to find me, and this suggests some kind of very personal vendetta against me. I want to know what it is. Either I know her, or she blames me for falling from Heaven, or... something else.” He sighed. “I suppose there’s a lot to blame me for.”

Dean noted how carefully considered Castiel’s voice was, as though he was fighting to keep his emotions in check, particularly when he said he’d thought the angels hadn’t cared about him. He was more upset about an angel’s betrayal than he was letting on. 

It was just another thing Castiel had to cope with amidst all this other shit, and for a second, a brief, guilty second, Dean felt exhausted at the thought of having to look after him as well as his brother. _Why was it always so hard to have people he cared about? Why did they always ask so much of him?_ But then the feeling was gone.

“Okay,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “So how do you think you can find her?”

Castiel’s face fell. “I’m still working on that part.”

“I don’t think I can help much until Sam’s back in the game,” Dean observed, feeling that exhaustion hit him again. 

“Of course, I understand that.” Castiel looked at the door. “Perhaps he can tell us more when he’s awake.”

* * *

But when Sam finally did wake up later that day, he wasn’t in a fit state to talk at all. If anything, he still seemed to be in shock. He barely said a word as Dean drove him to the nearest hospital for an x-ray and to have his arm placed in a cast. Although Dean tried to engage with him, chatting away as though everything was fine, through it all his brother was spaced out and monosyllabic, eliciting concerned comments from the doctors that Dean managed to fend off by answering for him. 

It seemed to take an age to get him fixed up, but eventually they were on their way home again, Sam staring down at the new cast on his arm with empty eyes. Dean’s stomach churned as he drove. He didn’t like Sam being so quiet.

The moment they got back to the bunker, Sam staggered back to bed. Dean woke him a few hours later with a sandwich and a drink, but he only took a few gulps of juice and then closed his eyes again. 

“Hey, Sammy – you okay?” Dean asked him, hearing the lightness in his voice and wincing at how fake it sounded.

“Tired,” his brother replied.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dean said, feeling useless. “Yell if you need me, dude.”

He was almost out of the door when Sam suddenly called his name. He stopped, turning back to the bed.

“What happened to them?” Sam asked, lifting his head from the pillow urgently, his eyes bloodshot and a little wild. “Did you save them?”

It took Dean a few seconds to realize he was referring to the people Elizabeth had been torturing. “Crowley saved all the ones who were still alive. They’re in hospital now.”

Sam made a relieved noise and fell back on the pillow. Dean waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. “Get some sleep,” he ordered, rather futilely, and closed the door behind him.

Crowley had told him several of the victims had had their tongues sliced out of their mouths. 

Dean hoped to God that Sam wouldn’t remember that.

* * *

It was two full days before Sam finally agreed to eat something.

He’d slept almost the entire time, occasionally jerking awake before passing out again, still way too quiet and reluctant to engage in any kind of conversation. Dean sat with him, dozing off occasionally, although he didn’t sleep properly as he was too on edge.

It was amazing to have his brother back. The problem was, Dean didn’t feel as though he’d got _all_ of him back. Not yet, anyway.

“You need to eat something,” he instructed Sam when he finally seemed lucid enough. “Come on, you’re starting to look like Garth here.”

“Salad,” Sam croaked, after a few moments of consideration. He slowly pulled himself up against his pillows, which looked awkward with his broken arm. 

Dean scoffed, annoyed. “Leaves and twigs? Seriously? When was the last time you ate, Sam? You need something to make up for lost time. How about some buffalo wings?”

Sam shook his head, his face falling. “Salad,” he repeated. “No meat.”

“No meat? What, did that demon turn you into a vegan?”

But then his brother looked at him with an expression Dean couldn’t quite place: he seemed pained and furious, all at once, and Dean backed down. “Salad it is, then,” he said, putting his hand on the door handle. “Be back in five.”

It wasn’t until Dean was in the kitchen, reluctantly throwing together a salad and grumbling to Castiel about his brother’s wussy eating habits, that the reason for Sam’s odd expression finally hit him. Castiel had put it together instantly. The only reason Dean hadn’t figured it out himself was because he hadn’t wanted to.

“Of course he doesn’t want any meat,” Castiel told him, his voice filled with regret. “Who knows what Elizabeth made him eat? Or even... _who._”

Dean dropped his knife. He braced himself on the counter top, closing his eyes. 

_Fuck._

It was a long time before he could summon words again. “I hope Crowley’s making that bitch suffer,” he growled. 

Castiel’s face was stony. “Oh, I doubt she’s having much fun right now.”

Dean stared down at the knife. _If I were still in Hell I’d tear her to shreds. Alastair taught me well. I could show her a thing or two she’s never seen before. She’d regret ever setting eyes on Sammy._

He lifted the knife to slice a tomato, and in his mind’s eye it was flesh.

* * *

Another day passed before Sam finally got out of bed. Dean and Castiel were sitting quietly in the library – Dean absent-mindedly hunting for cases on his laptop, Castiel just staring into space – when there was a noise behind them.

“Hey,” said Sam.

Dean had to stop himself from leaping to his feet. “Look who’s here!” he said instead, breaking into a grin.

“Sam! How do you feel?” Castiel asked, his face lighting up.

Sam glanced down at his broken arm. “Fine, I guess. I mean... I ache all over, and my brain’s kind all over the place. But it’s better than the alternative.” He rested his eyes on Castiel for a second, then moved them over to Dean. “Thanks for getting her out of me.”

“Yeah, well, you have Rowena and Crowley to thank for that, mainly,” Dean said.

“That’s not really something I’m stoked about,” Sam replied, with a small smile. 

Dean’s heart flipped. He seemed... okay. Pale, sure. A little wobbly. But he’d _smiled._ Was Sam back with them? Was he over it already?

But then his brother’s face fell as he looked over at Castiel. “Cas... I’m sorry for what I... she did to you. I tried so hard to stop her, but...”

Castiel interrupted him. “You did stop her, Sam. She nearly mutilated me, but you took over for just long enough to buy time. Given how strong she was, you should be proud.”

Sam looked unconvinced, but he tilted his head in what seemed like a reluctant acknowledgement. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m still sorry.”

“It’s forgotten, Sam.”

“You gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna join us?” Dean asked, pulling out a chair. Sam limped over and collapsed into it. Dean tried not to notice how much weight he’d lost just in the past few days, although Castiel shot him a worried look that said he was clearly thinking the same thing. Although it wasn’t as though Castiel was one to judge, either, given how crappy _he_ looked. 

“So did anything happen while I was gone?” Sam asked, forcing cheerfulness into his voice.

“The dragons on _Game Of Thrones_ got really big,” Dean quipped. 

Sam smiled again, and Dean caught his breath. Maybe everything was going to be alright. Maybe they’d get through this. Maybe Sam wouldn’t be fucked up, and Cas would heal, and the world could go back to their definition of normal.

Maybe. 

* * *

But that night, Sam yelled everybody awake at 3am. When Dean tried to shake him out of his nightmare he got a powerful and very unexpected punch from an arm in a plastercast that gave him a nosebleed that lasted for an hour. 

Sam was too shaken up to even apologize, and that was when Dean knew everything was still very, very wrong.

* * *

Betsy was proving to be a godsend. Dean hadn’t realized quite how important pets were during tense family situations – the perfect distraction for when conversations were getting too heavy, or as conversation-starters, or just something to play with when there was no conversation at all and the air hung thick and awkward around them. Which, at the moment, was most of the time. Sam wouldn’t talk about his nightmares – or anything else – and Dean knew better than to push him. He never uttered a word as he dreamed; it was usually just screaming. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out what filled his subconscious at night. 

He washed his hands a lot. Dean was hardly a Shakespeare nut, but he knew Lady Macbeth’s M.O. when he saw it. Sam’s hands were still covered in blood, even though nobody could see it but him.

Betsy liked Castiel most of all, which made sense given that he could understand what she said. That still blew Dean’s mind, although Betsy lived up to her species and proved inscrutable a lot of the time, refusing to answer simple questions such as “How did you get in here?” or, because Dean couldn’t resist asking it, “Do you guys really always land on your feet?”

At night, however, Betsy peeled herself away from Castiel’s side and went to sleep on Sam’s bed. This often resulted in her being dumped unceremoniously on the floor when he woke up screaming, or kicked as he flailed in his sleep. Once, as his brother yelled, Dean ran into the room just as Betsy tore out the door with all her fur standing on end, terrified by his sudden awakening. But every night she went back to him, and every night he fell asleep with her purring beside him. 

Sam said she helped, a little. Dean could see how his nightmares were eating him up, and doubted it, but it meant a lot that the cat was there for him. 

Unfortunately for Dean, his allergies finally started to kick in just as he was thinking he’d somehow conquered his life-long aversion to cat hair. But in the grand scheme of things his sneezing wasn’t important. 

Betsy stayed.

* * *

It had been five days. Sam looked like a ghost, dark circles under his eyes and every inch of his body sagging under the weight of his lack of sleep... and his memories. Meanwhile, Dean had become so hyper-aware that he couldn’t sleep himself, listening out for his brother’s screams in the night and running in to see him the second they rang out. 

He kept his distance now, though – his nose was still bruised from the first night. Instead he just turned on the light and called his brother’s name. That usually did the trick, bringing Sam back from his nightmare with a jolt. 

Dean struggled to find a bright side to all of this and could only think of one: at least Sam _was_ waking up. 

“You don’t have to check on me, seriously, I’m okay,” Sam told him this time. It was 3.45am and he was sitting upright in a mess of sheets and blankets, blinking in the light, breathing hard and covered in sweat, hair hanging limply in front of his eyes. He looked like he was fighting a fever rather than his own personal demons – or _demon_, to be more exact. Dean couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen him look so bad.

He sighed and sat on the end of the bed, rubbing his face free of sleep. He’d only just dropped off himself before having to run in here. This was exhausting. “Come on, Sammy, you know I’m not gonna ignore this shit. That’s what I’m here for; to look out for you.”

“They’re just dreams,” Sam said hoarsely, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s not like you can stop them.”

“Yeah, but I can make sure you wake up as fast as possible. If I don’t come in you’re trapped in there for longer, aren’t you? I think I’m helping.”

Sam stared at him for a few moments, unblinking, then pulled his knees up before him, wrapping his cast around them to keep them upright. There was a long, uncomfortable silence as he fought to control his breathing. It was broken by Betsy, who jumped onto the mattress with a tiny _chirrup_ and nudged her head against the cast. 

“Hey, Betsy,” Sam said absently.

The cat looked back at Dean as though she was judging him, then sat and licked a paw. 

The three of them were silent for a while.

“It’s the blood,” said Sam, his voice quiet. “I keep seeing the blood. It’s not... I mean, we see blood all the time, right? And there was... there was Hell. So I’m used to blood. I’ve probably seen more of it than most surgeons. But this time... I did it. I caused it. My hands ripped those people open. I know it wasn’t me, I know it wasn’t really me, but they were still my hands, y’know?” He looked down at his palms, flexing his fingers. 

Betsy sniffed his left hand and then sat back again, tucking her tail around her front legs.

“It must suck,” said Dean, because he couldn’t think of a way to make it better. All he could do was acknowledge it.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “It really does. It’s all I can think about. Everything I do. Everything I touch. It’s just... _blood._”

Jesus. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. Dean reached out and stroked Betsy’s back, making her jump to her feet and arch into his touch. “I know it’s tough now, but it’ll get better,” he said. “You just gotta give it time. You’re strong, Sammy. You can get over this.”

Sam shot him an exhausted look. “I hope so, Dean. I really hope so. At the moment, it’s... it’s kinda too much.”

“You just need some sleep. I can find you some pills, if you want. They might help.”

His brother shook his head. “I feel like they’d just bury the nightmares deeper. What if I couldn’t wake up?”

“Yeah, I get ya. But... you need sleep, man. You can’t go on like this.”

“I know.” Sam lowered his head, rubbing his eyes. “_Ugh._ Maybe I’ll sleep through tomorrow night.”

He didn’t.

* * * 

The next day Dean removed his stitches using a mirror, his hands well-practiced. He stared at his reflection and examined the small scar the wound was going to leave on his forehead. 

He’d avoided a ton of scars over the years thanks to Castiel’s healing powers. This was just another reminder that the angel was no longer an angel. Castiel couldn’t even heal himself now, let alone him.

Once the stitches were out, Dean checked the mirror again and decided he looked dreadful. His eyes were bloodshot, his complexion sallow and there were blue circles under his eyes that matched the ones under Sam’s so perfectly it was clear they were related. It wasn’t surprising that he looked so bad, given that it had been weeks since he’d had a good night’s sleep, barring the time Castiel had knocked him out. He was bone-tired, the kind of tired that came from weeks and weeks of lost sleep and stress. 

Dean was tired of all this worrying – about Sam, about Cas, about everything. About the fact there was nothing he could do to help either of them: one struggling with the aftermath of a massacre, and the other cruelly robbed of what made him _him_. It was overwhelming, although when was Dean’s life anything else? He had to be strong for a little longer. 

He didn’t really have a choice. 

But there were still a few ways he could help. A few minutes later, having splashed water on his face to try to perk himself up a bit, he knocked on the door to Castiel’s room and held up the scissors. The room’s occupant looked up at him quizzically from the bed, where he was sitting with a book in one hand. 

“Time to lose those stitches,” Dean said.

Castiel studied him seriously for a few moments, then nodded. He put the book down and shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, then started to undo the brace holding his arm still. The sound of the Velcro unripping was surprisingly loud in the small room.

“How’s the shoulder?” asked Dean.

Castiel looked down at his hand as he placed the brace on the bed. “It’s still sore, but I have some movement again. I think I can stop wearing the brace in a few days.”

“That’s good news,” Dean observed, because it was.

Castiel nodded, then pushed his shirt to one side. He lifted the t-shirt underneath as high as it would go, holding it still so that his stab wound was exposed, and for a moment Dean was puzzled because the gesture looked so uncomfortable. Why didn’t he just pull off his t-shirt completely?

“Do you need a hand getting that off?” he offered, assuming that his injured shoulder must be preventing him.

“I can sit like this, it’s fine.”

Dean noted an odd, reluctant tone in his voice and frowned. What was wrong with him? 

And then, with a jolt, he realized that Castiel could take the t-shirt off easily if he wanted; after all, he’d been able to dress and undress himself all week. 

He just didn’t want to remove it in front of Dean. 

“Seriously?” Dean snapped, irritated. “You can take your damn t-shirt off, Cas, it’s not like I haven’t seen your chest before.”

Castiel’s expression darkened. “This will do just as well.”

“You’re gonna sit holding it like that for as long as this takes? That’s ridiculous, dude. Take it off.”

“No.” Dean caught the full force of Castiel’s glare; it was so powerful that he almost winced. 

“I don’t get what your problem is, for chrissakes,” he said, still feeling annoyed. “I thought angels didn’t care if they were naked. You guys have no shame.”

“I’m not an angel, which should be blatantly obvious from the fact you’re taking stitches out of the wound in my shoulder.”

Dean scowled at the stitches. “Yeah, well, taking off a t-shirt is hardly a freakin’ striptease, Cas. What, you think I’m gonna pounce on you because I’m so turned on? Get over yourself.”

Even as he said it, he knew it was a mistake to mention sex, but what the hell. It was done. The reaction he received was a surprise, though. Castiel dropped the t-shirt and yanked his shirt closed, returning Dean’s scowl with a vengeance. 

“In that case, I can take them out myself. I don’t need your help, Dean.”

“Why are you so pissy today?” Dean asked, genuinely shocked at Castiel’s vehemence. “Come on, this is stupid. I can do it.”

“No,” Castiel snapped, and for a moment there was some of his old celestial fire in the word. “If I don’t want you to touch me, _I don’t want you to touch me._ Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Dean stepped backwards, stunned. They locked eyes for a few seconds and then he turned, feeling an acidic taste on his tongue. “Yeah, I’m hearin’ you loud and clear, Cas.”

He stalked out of the room and only just resisted slamming the door behind him. 

After everything they’d been through, after they’d been so close, after Dean had thought they were in _love_, for fuck’s sake... now Castiel couldn’t even take his top off in front of him. He even winced when Dean touched his arm! It was as if he didn’t trust him any more; as if he thought Dean was a threat. 

It was the PTSD, obviously: Castiel was going downhill again after seeming so well, but at the same time... dammit, PTSD or no PTSD, it was really fucking hurtful. 

Deep down, Dean knew he was taking this too personally. He was tired; hell, he was exhausted. He had to be – because it seemed to him, right now, that Castiel’s relationship with him had changed to such an extent that Castiel was actually _physically repulsed_ by him. 

“I need sleep,” he muttered, because his thoughts were a mess. Castiel couldn’t really think that. 

Could he?

Either way, it was over. Castiel didn’t want him and would never want him again, and that made him feel like crap. But facts were facts, and Castiel wanted out. Maybe he wasn’t even going to stay in the bunker for much longer. Maybe Castiel would go back to mooching around on his own like he had been before all this shit had gone down with Sam.

_You’d better start getting used to the idea, then,_ Dean thought. _Time to move on. What’s done is done._

Then why did it hurt so much? 

* * * 

Feeling twitchy, he went to find Sam, discovering him gazing off into space on one of the chairs in the library. Just that fact – that he wasn’t doing anything, only sitting there – made Dean’s heart sink even further. Since when did Sam just sit doing nothing? Sam never switched off. He was always reading, browsing the internet, researching... doing something. He didn’t just _stare_.

“Hey,” he said, probably a little louder than was necessary. 

Sam jumped, blinking hard, and looked up at him. “Hey.” He frowned. “Are you okay? You look... kinda angry.”

“Yeah, let’s just say Cas is being an awkward son of a bitch.”

Sam’s forehead furrowed. “What the hell happened between you two? I still don’t get it.”

Dean had a sudden flashback to the Sluagh fucking Castiel while wearing his body. “It’s gross and I don’t wanna talk about it,” he declared.

Sam stared at him, his expression thoughtful. It made Dean uncomfortable. “What?”

“I think you need a break,” Sam said, in a tone that suggested it was a done deal already. “Go out, dude. Get drunk. Enjoy yourself. We’ll still be here when you get back.”

“I know _you_ will be,” Dean muttered, looking over his shoulder. 

“Huh? I can’t hear you.”

Dean ignored him, taking a few seconds to think it through. “I suppose a change of scenery would be nice,” he mused. Getting shit-faced drunk did seem like a good idea right now. Plus he’d sleep like a log afterwards, which was just what he needed. Then he stared at Sam, contemplating leaving him for the first time since his return. “But... are you gonna be okay? I mean, I feel kind of crappy leaving you here. Maybe you should come with.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t think I’m up for a drinking session at the moment, I can barely handle coffee.” Then he smiled, his face suddenly younger, less careworn. It warmed Dean from top to toe. “Go on, man. Go out. Have fun. Stop worrying about me and Cas for a few hours.”

Dean weighed it up, then grinned back. What the hell. He did need a break, all things considered. “Don’t wait up,” he said.

His brother shook his head. “Yeah, dude. I never do.”

* * *

Everything went a bit wrong after that.

At first, Dean hit one of the bars in town and ended up playing on their pinball machine against a twentysomething girl named Lauren and her boyfriend, Zack, each of whom were damn good at flinging the little ball around, although not quite as good as he was. Dean didn’t have the heart to bet money on their games – neither looked as though they had any income other than the Bank of Mom & Dad – and so, for once, he simply enjoyed laughing and joking with two strangers he wasn’t having to hustle. It was surprisingly fun.

A few beers down, though, he found that it wasn’t quite enough distraction, so he made excuses and went to a bar a few blocks away that had always yielded decent pickings for a one-night stand. He sat in a booth and watched women come and go, trying to remember if he’d met any of them before and occasionally making eye contact. When they came over, however, he found he didn’t have much to say. His heart just wasn’t in it. 

Of course his heart wasn’t in it: he was still mourning Castiel.

After an hour or two, as the bar got darker, the music louder and Dean drunker, his thoughts started to go in weird directions. He thought about Castiel. He thought about what had happened to him. He thought about the Sluagh, and how happy they had been until that fucker had come into their lives, and he thought about how Castiel had jerked away from him when he’d touched his arm. He looked at the women across the bar with their long hair, makeup and padded bras and wondered why they did absolutely nothing for him now. He wanted short hair and stubble, a flat, hard chest and a body that was lean and powerful. 

He didn’t want to fuck a woman. He wanted to fuck a man... one man. But that man wasn’t interested in him any more. So where did that leave him?

Dean was drunk, and so he thought he’d damn well find out. 

* * *

Many months ago he remembered standing in the toilet of a bar in Kanab, Utah, and watching in horror as the door to a cubicle had opened to reveal Castiel and the young man he’d just picked up to give him a blowjob. 

Now the tables had turned. This time Dean was the one in the cubicle of a small gay bar in Lebanon, Kansas that he hadn’t even known existed until an hour ago, and this time Dean was the one who had enticed a guy into the bathroom with him and was watching him fall to his knees.

It had surprised him, actually, how fast it had happened. Gay men didn’t mess around. In fact, the minute Dean had walked into the bar he’d been amazed at the number of customers who’d eyed him up and down.

His companion was called... er... actually, Dean couldn’t remember. He was too drunk. But he was just sober enough to stand upright, leaning on the back of the closed door, watching as the guy undid his belt for him. 

He was blond with brown eyes, which Dean thought was appropriate: his looks didn’t match Castiel’s at all. He’d chosen him deliberately as a contrast to the man he knew. But as warm fingers unzipped his jeans and slid inside them, Dean suddenly felt as though everything was wrong. 

“Nice,” hissed the stranger before him, pulling Dean’s cock out of his pants. 

Dean shuddered, closing his eyes. He leaned his head back on the door. _Okay, so, pretend it’s Cas after all,_ he thought, as lips closed around his penis. _Everything’s cool, this is just me and Cas, no biggie. That’s his mouth and I’m ready for him, I’m hard as fuck and I’m gonna come in his mouth and it’s gonna be great._

But that mouth wasn’t Castiel’s, and Dean could tell: it was wrong, it was all wrong, it was too wet and too loose, the tongue didn’t massage him the way Castiel’s tongue always did; the noises were different, filled with fake _mmmmms_ and sighs that sounded nothing like Castiel. The mouth worked too hard, was too fast, was sucking him from the wrong angle. The fingers gripping the base of his dick were too tight, then too loose... this wasn’t the way Dean liked it, and he grunted, shuddering in annoyance, which the guy took to mean something else as he pulled his lips away from his cock and laughed. 

“Feels good, yeah?” he said, and the voice was wrong too – too high, too playful. 

_Get over it,_ Dean thought, angrily. _Just let him do this. Cas doesn’t want you. Cas won’t ever do this to you again, so make the most of what you can get. You didn’t want this from a woman tonight, so this is the alternative. Go with it, Dean. Just go with it._

The mouth was back, and Dean tried an experimental thrust which was met with an exaggerated moan of approval. He wasn’t remotely hard yet and the guy had to work, sucking and licking, concentrating like a painter working on a masterpiece. It went on, not even stopping when people came in to use the bathroom, and Dean was half-repulsed, half-turned on at the thought of them doing this with other people so close to them behind the cubicle’s flimsy walls. Although it was still wrong because _fuck_ this needed to be Cas and it wasn’t, fuck it, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t him, but Dean couldn’t have him and so this would have to be enough.

It took what felt like forever to get hard, the problem mainly in his head rather than his cock. When he finally got there he could sense that his partner was relieved; you could only kneel for so long before your legs went dead, surely? Dean couldn’t help but sympathize, feeling a little guilty. But from there it only took a few minutes for him to get lost in what was happening to his dick, white-hot pleasure building. The man switched from mouth to fist, clearly not keen on having a stranger come in his mouth, and as Dean eventually emptied himself into the guy’s palm with a small grunt of pleasure the recipient made a triumphant, relieved statement.

“That’s it, that’s right, come to daddy... That must feel so fucking good, yeah? Does it feel good? I bet that feels good, fuck.” 

The words were so _not Castiel_ that Dean almost wanted to cry.

After that, he just needed to get the hell out of there. He hissed an embarrassed _thanks_ and took off, leaving the man who’d just given him what was in all honesty a halfway-decent blowjob on his knees in the cubicle. He was probably as hard as a rock, too, and Dean should have considered that before leaving; talk about rude! He should be returning the favor, it was only fair. But there was no way he could face that. He could barely face himself, catching a glimpse of his flushed face in the mirror on his way out. 

_You’re disgusting._

He left the bar, found his car, realized he was too drunk to drive and so climbed in the front seat and sat there. He stared at the car lot in front of him, glistening wet under the street lights in the rain, and thought about what he’d just done.

_Disgusting._

He didn’t cry. Then again, he didn’t vomit, either. He counted both facts as victories.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

When Dean woke up it was still raining, the car was freezing and every joint in his body ached. _ I’m too old to sleep in the back seat,_ he thought ruefully, gazing up at the battered ceiling. He was too old to wake up with a hangover, as well, although there was nothing he could do about that now except eat something hot and greasy and hope for the best. His stomach was rumbling like thunder.

He sat upright with a pained grunt, rubbed his eyes and pulled out his phone. It was 8.30am and there were two text messages from Sam, each asking if he was okay. For a moment Dean felt a stab of irritation that his brother was checking up on him before remembering that Sam had popped out to buy some beer and then spent weeks murdering innocent people with a demon inside him. Yeah... keeping tabs on each other was probably a good idea right now. 

Scowling at the bright light from the phone screen, he typed: _Slept in the car. Gonna get breakfast and head back. See you soon._ Then, a few moments after pressing ‘send’, he added: _I’m getting too old for this shit._

Picking up random strangers in bars was another thing he was too old for, to be honest. The fact the latest had been male didn’t freak Dean out half as much as it would have done a year or two ago – he’d come to terms with his bisexuality since realizing his feelings for Castiel, and it still surprised him how it really wasn’t a big deal. But the fact he felt sordid and dirty at the thought of what he’d done last night told him everything he needed to know about the state of his mind. 

In Dean’s head he was still in a relationship with Castiel, and so what had happened in that bathroom had felt like _cheating._

“Get over it,” he muttered, because it wasn’t like there was another option. Then he climbed out of the car to find somewhere to eat.

* * *

A huge pile of bacon and eggs later, Dean arrived back at the bunker to find Sam and Castiel sitting in the kitchen and talking so intently about Djinn that it took them a while to notice Dean was standing at the door.

“Hey,” said Sam, when he was finally spotted. “How’s the hangover?”

“It’s a freakin’ parade,” Dean replied, noting that Sam looked even more exhausted than he’d looked the day before. “I’m guessing from your rumpled Detective Columbo face that you didn’t get much sleep.”

Sam shrugged and looked away. “The usual.”

Castiel shot Dean a look that spoke volumes. Clearly he’d also had an interrupted night of sleep, no doubt having to pick up Dean’s slack by checking on Sam. Fuck. Why had he left his brother alone like that?

But Sam didn’t seem to be holding a grudge. “Jody called,” he announced. “She needs help on a case.”

Dean breathed in hard, realizing something. “I didn’t tell her we got you back,” he said slowly, feeling guilt spike through him. “I meant to call her, but... dammit. Poor Jody.”

“Yeah, she was kinda freaked when I answered the phone,” Sam grinned. “But then she was happy, so it was cool.”

“She’s hunting a Djinn and thinks it might be part of a family group,” explained Castiel. “There are no other hunters free at the moment and she wanted to see if we could help her out.”

“Yeah, not the best timing there,” Dean grunted, wandering over across to the coffee-maker. “Maybe in a few weeks when we’ve all licked our wounds and are back on our feet.”

“I’m already back on my feet,” Castiel said, sounding a little affronted.

Dean turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, so you can walk. Can you shoot a shotgun one-handed?”

Castiel frowned. “Djinn are killed with a blade. I don’t need to use a shotgun.”

“I’ve been trying to persuade him not to go,” Sam said. “I mean, I’d go myself, but on this amount of sleep I’d probably just stab Jody by mistake. But at least I have two working arms, unlike you, Cas.”

Dean put down his mug. “Wait, Cas – you’re _seriously_ thinking of helping out Jody? I thought you were joking.”

“People are dying and she needs help. I’m free to go. Why shouldn’t I?”

Castiel said the words so earnestly, and with such innocence, that Dean almost didn’t know how to reply. Didn’t he realize he couldn’t hunt with a broken shoulder? What the hell?

“Cas, you’re still healing,” he said, genuinely shocked. “Come on, man, you can’t go on a hunt with your arm all strapped up like that. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s almost better. I’m pretty sure I’m able to drive, and so all I have to do is watch Jody’s back when I get there.”

Dean gaped at him. 

“What?” Castiel asked, starting to look annoyed. 

“Cas, you... you’re not an angel any more, you know that, right? If something happens you could die. It’s too risky.”

“You and Sam face death all the time.”

“Yes, but we don’t go hunting when half our bodies don’t work!”

“I’m almost better,” Castiel said, stubbornly. “And if nothing else, I can’t face sitting around in this bunker any longer. I need to be doing something. I can’t find that angel – I’ve tried everything I can think of to track her down. So this will be a welcome distraction from that failure.”

“You could go, Dean,” Sam announced, nodding in Dean’s direction. “If you go, Cas can stay here.”

“No, Cas won’t,” Castiel pointed out, glaring at Sam.

“I’m not leaving you, Sam,” Dean said, folding his arms. “One night was bad enough.”

“And there we are, it’s settled,” Castiel said, rising to his feet. “I’m going to pack my bag. I’d appreciate it if you could let me have the keys to whichever car in the garage is the easiest to drive while compromised.”

“Cas, this is insane!” Dean said, still unable to believe this was happening.

“I’m a hunter, Dean.” Castiel said it with force. “There’s something out there killing people and our friend needs help. So I’m going. She’d do the same for us.”

There wasn’t really much Dean could say to that.

* * *

He reluctantly chose a car and brought the keys to Castiel, who was throwing clothes and weapons in a bag on his bed as Betsy looked on with interest from her perch on one of his pillows. 

“Here,” Dean said, holding out the keys. “This is crazy, I hope you know that. You shouldn’t hunt if you’re injured.”

“I’ve seen both you and Sam hunt while injured,” Castiel said, taking the keys. 

“No, you’ve seen us get injured during hunts. It’s different. You shouldn’t go in compromised.”

“Jody has nobody else. All the other hunters are busy and she doesn’t want the girls involved. Three men and a child have already died.” He sighed, throwing a pair of rolled-up socks onto the bed. “And I need something to do, Dean. I’m starting to go crazy.”

Dean didn’t say anything, staring at him. He didn’t like this one bit, but he could hardly handcuff Castiel and chain him in the dungeon, could he? If he wanted to go, he could go. It didn’t matter what Dean thought.

Betsy stood up, stretched and walked down the bed. Both men stared at her mutely for a few moments as she sniffed at the bundles of Castiel’s clothes.

“I’m glad you had fun last night,” Castiel said unexpectedly, his tone oddly guarded. 

Dean felt a pang of guilt, but tried to sound blasé as he replied, “Drinks were had. Pinball was played. It was okay.”

Castiel looked over and met his eyes. “I know you did more than that, Dean.”

Dean blinked. “Huh? What?”

“You smell of two types of aftershave. I can join the dots.”

Dean swallowed, unsure of whether to be defiant or defensive. “Yeah, well. It’s not like we’re together any more, is it?”

It came out sounding bitter and angry, which wasn’t quite what he was going for, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

Castiel sighed and looked down at his bag. “I’m sorry this is so hard for you.”

Dean blew out a breath of frustration. “So why isn’t it hard for _you_? How can you just give up like this, Cas? Doesn’t it... I mean, isn’t it difficult?”

“_Everything’s_ difficult at the moment.” Castiel looked at him, his expression sad. “That’s why I need to get away.”

It was on the tip of Dean’s tongue to beg him to stay – not just in the bunker, but with him. He wanted them to stay together so much it hurt, like a physical pain in his chest, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it again because he knew Castiel would say no and that would also hurt.

As though deciding it was time to break the mood, Betsy suddenly pounced on one of Castiel’s socks, making them both jump. She batted it to one side and climbed into the bag on the bed, her tail twitching behind her. Then she turned around inside it, her black-and-white face peeking out cheekily, pupils wide with playfulness.

“You’re definitely not coming with me,” Castiel said, smiling. “Come on, troublemaker.” 

He lifted her out and that was it: the moment was lost. Dean didn’t have any more arguments to make.

“I’ll call when I get to Sioux Falls,” said Castiel, not meeting Dean’s eyes. He picked up the bag and left.

In the silence that followed, Betsy looked up at Dean and mewed.

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me, cat,” Dean replied. “This sucks.”

* * *

That night, Dean fell into bed and was asleep in seconds. 

It didn’t last. 

This time Sam’s screaming was so bad that Dean had to shake him awake, taking care not to get anywhere near his fists or that surprisingly dangerous cast as they flailed. But when Sam finally opened his eyes and stopped wailing, it wasn’t a relief: instead, his brother looked as though he’d seen horrors behind his eyelids that had fully justified his rude awakening.

“You okay?” Dean asked him, futilely, his hands on Sam’s shoulders.

Sam’s eyes slid over to him and he shuddered, shaking his head. “No... no, Dean, I’m not.”

Dean nodded, empathizing but feeling utterly helpless. “It’s alright, dude, it’s over. You’re done. You’re awake.”

“She made me do things,” Sam gasped, pushing Dean’s hands away so he could sit up. “She made me do things, Dean, and I can’t get them out of my head... I can’t stop seeing them. They’re all there, in my mind, and it’s like I did them myself... I can’t separate her from me when I’m asleep, and it’s all there, all of it, all the... blood. Fuck, Dean, there was so much _blood._”

Dean swallowed, watching as his brother leaned back against the headboard. He looked terrible, coated in sweat, thinner than ever, his eyes sunken. 

“I don’t know how to help,” he admitted, as Sam looked up at him. “I’m so sorry, Sammy, I wish I could help.”

“It’s getting worse,” Sam told him, swallowing hard. “It’s... I can’t explain it, but it’s like I couldn’t quite see it all at first, but now it’s coming back, and it’s... terrible.”

“I guess your subconscious is working through it all,” Dean suggested. “I’m not a shrink but I think that’s supposed to be a good thing?”

Sam hid his eyes behind a shaking hand. “There’s nothing good about this. I can’t stop thinking about it. All that death...”

Dean stared at him, knowing there was nothing he could say. Then, with her usual impeccable timing, Betsy suddenly jumped on the bed and walked up the mattress, nudging Sam’s thigh with her cheek. Sam lowered his hand to stroke her.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said, as the cat started to purr loudly. “You must need sleep as much as I do. Maybe you should try earplugs or something.”

Dean scoffed. “Remember when you went through that snoring phase when I was 12? Earplugs didn’t work then. They wouldn’t work now.”

“I never snored.”

“Full-on chainsaw, man. Every damn night. Dad said you sounded like a bear.”

“Bullshit.”

“I just wish smartphones had existed back then. I’d have recorded you every single night so you wouldn’t be arguing with me today.”

Sam snorted. “Your word against mine, man.” He was silent for a few moments, his fingers moving to tickle Betsy under the chin. Nobody spoke for a while, listening to the cat purr, feeling the atmosphere grow calmer. And then, out of nowhere, Dean sneezed.

“You need to pick up some antihistamines,” Sam suggested.

“Antihistamines are for wimps.”

Sam studied him for a few moments, then said carefully: “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”

Dean sniffed and sat back on the edge of the mattress, wary. “That sounds ominous.”

“What the hell happened between you and Cas? I know it’s none of my business, except... I just can’t get my head around you two not being together. It just seemed perfect, y’know?”

Dean looked down at his hands, embarrassed. “Yeah, it was. Right up until the Sluagh got inside our heads.”

“What did it do?”

He sighed. “Long story short... while Cas was with the demons, the Sluagh paid him a few visits.” He stopped, uncertain. Would Castiel mind him telling Sam the next part?

“I knew that much,” Sam observed, frowning. “So...?”

What the hell. Dean decided to say it quickly, so it would be easier. “It could shapeshift, and it pretended to be me. Cas couldn’t remember until the bastard died and the spell was broken, and then every time he looked at me, all he could see was that son of a bitch.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Dean. That’s... twisted.”

“It fucked Cas up. Like, big time. He decided he doesn’t want a sexual relationship, like, _ever_, and that’s why he needs a break from me. It really messed with his head.”

Sam was quiet for a while, processing. Then he said: “So as far as you’re concerned, he dumped you? If he changed his mind, would you take him back?”

“In a heartbeat,” Dean said quickly, before his voice could crack. 

“That... really sucks. I’m sorry, dude.”

“On a sliding scale of ‘shit’ I think you’ve got more to worry about right now, Sam, but... yeah. It sucks.”

Sam sighed. “Sometimes I wonder how we carry all this around with us. Like, how is there room in our heads for all this crap? It’s almost pouring out of our ears, all this misery and sadness and guilt and... whatever.”

Dean stared at him, a thought suddenly sparking in the back of his mind. “Huh.”

“What?”

“I just...” He stopped, biting his lip, then continued: “Cas put a box in my head, didn’t he? With all my memories of Hell. If he hadn’t, all that shit would’ve flowed out of my ears and driven me insane.”

To his surprise, Sam smiled. “Knowing an angel can be pretty handy.”

“What if... what if Cas could do the same for you? What if he could tie all your memories of Elizabeth up in a pretty box and just throw it in the back of your head like so much junk? You’d never think about her again.”

Sam tilted his head. “Nice idea, but Cas isn’t an angel any more.”

“So we need to get his grace back.”

“He said he hasn’t managed to find that angel, though.”

Dean grinned. “He’s been looking by himself. I say we call in the big guns. I bet Crowley and Rowena wouldn’t mind finding that angel if it meant Castiel owed them a favor or two afterwards – not to mention us.”

Sam fell silent, staring at him. 

“Come on, you know it’s a great idea, Sammy.”

“It is, but at the same time... I don’t know, Dean. I can’t let myself hope we can do it. It’s like I’d be torturing myself over a quick fix that might not ever happen.”

“It worked for me,” Dean said, earnestly. “I hardly ever think of Hell because Cas shoved so much of it in that box. He can do the same for you, I’m sure of it. And we can find his grace – we have to. This is it, Sam, this is the way we can get you back to your old self.”

Sam twitched a nervous smile at him. “I suppose it’s a bit more solid than you sticking in a pair of earplugs and ignoring me.”

Dean grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

* * *

It was a good plan, and Dean knew it. Unfortunately, it was a plan Castiel had already tried. When Dean called Crowley the next morning, the King of Hell sounded even more irritated than usual. 

“Don’t you ever _speak_ to your pretty little boyfriend, you idiot? Castiel asked me to find her a week ago. And I found nada. I already told him.”

Dean sighed. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“So it seems.” Crowley sounded intrigued. “I take it you’re searching for his angel nemesis behind his back, then? What is it – some kind of anniversary present for him? Flowers would probably do just as well.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean snapped, and ended the call. 

His talk with Rowena didn’t go any better. “She’s warded, sweetie,” said the witch. “All my spells just slide right off her. She could be standing in front of me and I wouldn’t be able to find her with magic. That’s the thing with angels – they know all sorts of wonderful wards and sigils that have been buried for millennia and almost forgotten.”

“This is ridiculous,” Dean said, frustrated. “How the hell are we going to find her?”

“I suppose I could try to search for Castiel’s _grace_ instead of the angel who has it,” Rowena suggested, her words a little too careful, and Dean winced as he remembered that she knew how powerless Castiel was at the moment. “If I find his grace, chances are I’ll find the angel for you.”

“Let me guess: you find his grace and then steal it away while we’re dealing with her?” Dean growled. “What can a witch do with an angel’s grace, anyway? Nothing good, I reckon.”

Rowena’s voice grew higher down the phone. “I’m shocked that you would think such a terrible thing of me, Dean! Absolutely shocked! And after I helped get that wee demon out of Samuel, too. Surely you can trust me by now?”

“About as far as I could throw you,” Dean said matter-of-factly, although in his mind’s eye he considered how tiny she was and that he could probably throw her quite a long way.

“That’s very hurtful,” said Rowena, although her tone suggested she actually found the whole thing hilarious.

“I’ll think about it,” Dean said, after a pause. Hell, maybe she had a point: perhaps Castiel’s grace would be easier to find.

“I’ll be here, as always. Always happy to help a–”

Dean put the phone down on the table and rubbed at his face. He should’ve known that Castiel had already tried this route. Now he had to think of an idea Castiel hadn’t already considered. But what? 

“Hey,” said Sam, walking into the kitchen. “Any luck?”

“Cas already asked them,” Dean said, grimly. 

Sam sighed and sat down. “I suppose that makes sense. We’ll have to find another way.”

Dean looked up at him. “How? We don’t even know anybody who’s met her, apart from Elizabeth. And us, last year. But I can barely even remember what she looked like.”

“I do, but she could’ve swapped vessels,” Sam said. 

“How much _do_ you remember about meeting her, then?”

Sam’s face hardened. “Elizabeth kind of shoved me back into my head every time they met up, but I remember seeing her and knowing who she was. And...” He frowned. “I think... I think I remember her... driving away after one of their meetings.”

“What kind of car was she in?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry, there’s no way I can remember that.”

“Maybe you need a hypnotist to uncover your memories.”

“Cas would be able to do it,” Sam said, and chuckled. There was no humor in it. “So in order for him to read my mind to find his grace, he’d need his grace. A perfect catch-22 right there.”

“Ugh.” Dean dropped his forehead to the table. “This isn’t going well.”

His phone rang. He picked it up and saw Jody’s name. “Hey Jody,” he said, feeling that wave of guilt again over the fact he hadn’t told her about Sam being found; damn, that had been shitty of him. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“Yeah, well, that’ll have to wait,” she replied. “We got a situation here.”

Dean sat straighter. “What kind of situation?” And then, after a few heartbeats, “Is Cas there?”

“He’s with me,” Jody said, sounding exhausted. “We wiped out a family of Djinn last night and rescued a couple of kids. We thought we got them all but there was a Djinn hiding in the yard when we left. Cas got whammied.”

“...Whammied?”

“He’s under its spell – the whole ‘blue handprint’ thing. He’s totally out of it. I know you’ve dealt with this stuff before so I think you need to come wake him up.”

Dean cursed. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, ignoring Sam’s curious look. “I _told_ him not to go,” he hissed. “Seriously, Jody, how could you take him with you on a hunt? You saw the state of him!”

“Did you miss the part where I said we rescued _children_, Dean?” Jody snapped back, and wow, she didn’t sound happy. “I couldn’t have gone on that hunt at all without back-up, and Cas did a good job, right up to when we got jumped. And guess what? He saved my damn life, Dean. That Djinn was coming for me with a knife and Cas barreled into it and made it drop the blade. By the time I’d pulled out my own weapon, Cas was down. So don’t talk about him like he was some kind of baby – he held his own, right up until he couldn’t. And two sets of parents have their little girls back today thanks to him.”

Dean was silent for a few moments, processing that.

“So are you coming or not?”

“Yes,” Dean said, swallowing his anger. “We’re on our way.”

“Good,” said Jody, and ended the call.

“What happened to Cas?” asked Sam, his eyes wide.

Dean met his gaze, remembering the time he’d had to take dreamroot to get into Charlie’s head and rescue her from a horde of zombies. This kind of Djinn fed on fear. What the hell was Castiel dreaming about right now in that spell?

“Looks like you’re not the only one having nightmares at the moment,” he said.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Sam slept for big chunks of the drive to Jody’s. It didn’t seem to be a peaceful sleep, however, and Dean found himself constantly shooting him glances to gauge his facial expressions, preparing to wake him up if he was grimacing too much. As if that wasn’t enough, keeping his own eyes open was pretty tough too, and so by the time they finally arrived at Jody’s house he had a pounding headache that could only have come from concentrating so hard on staying awake.

_Great,_ he thought, slamming the car door with a little too much force. _ Now I have to drink that disgusting dreamroot and walk around Castiel’s mind while my head feels like it’s going to crack open. Dammit Cas, why were you dumb enough to allow this to happen?_

But once he was inside Jody’s home and staring down at Castiel, all he felt was concern. Castiel was stretched out on a sofa, his face pale and a blue handprint standing out angrily on his skin where he’d been grabbed around the throat by the Djinn. His eyes were moving under his lids and he was scowling, fingers twitching on his chest. 

He looked as though he was suffering.

This kind of Djinn fed on fear. They got a kick out of torturing their victims with horrible visions so they could drain them of blood that tasted – well, Dean didn’t really understand it, but he assumed it was more delicious than the norm. Twisted sons-of-bitches. And Dean knew too well the kind of torture Castiel had been subjected to _in real life_ over the years, so it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what he was dreaming about right now.

Dean really, really didn’t want to climb into his mind and see those visions in person. But he wasn’t going to let Jody do it, and Sam had enough going on, so...

“I nearly gave myself a hernia getting him into the car and back here,” Jody was saying, gazing down at Castiel forlornly. 

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Dean muttered, still annoyed that this had happened at all.

“He’s a grown man, Dean, I couldn’t exactly tie him up and stop him from coming with me on a hunt.”

Dean frowned at her, despite the fact he’d thought the very same thing the previous morning when Castiel had left. 

“Where can I make the drink?” asked Sam, holding up his bag of ingredients. 

“The kitchen – I already snipped some of his hair for the mix. Have you boys eaten? I can make some food if you’re hungry.”

“I’ll definitely need to get the dreamroot taste outta my mouth when I’m done,” Dean said, grimacing. “Make something spicy.”

Jody half-smiled at him. “Let’s hope this doesn’t take long. My chili is only good when it’s fresh.”

She went into the kitchen with Sam, while Dean knelt on the floor beside Castiel. “Goddamn idiot,” he murmured, taking his hand. Castiel’s fingers twitched against his palm. Dean stared at them for a few moments, wondering if he’d reacted to his presence – something he shouldn’t have been able to do while under the spell – but then he realized the movement had been purely a reflex. 

“You could’ve been killed,” he said to him, and sighed. “I really wish I didn’t have to do this, man. Whatever’s going on in that noggin of yours, I bet it ain’t pretty.”

Castiel made a small, soft sound that could have been a moan. Dean stared at him, feeling his heart ache with loss. “Fuck it,” he said, and kissed him on the forehead. 

There was no response. 

“You’re an idiot,” Dean said again, and then Sam was back and it was time to go dreamwalking.

* * *

The inside of Castiel’s mind wasn’t at all what Dean was expecting.

He’d presumed it would contain a cellar and a bed, chains and an endless conveyor belt of demons. Instead, he found himself standing in a children’s playground. 

“What the hell...?” he muttered, confused, blinking in the bright sunlight. The playground was deserted, the trees surrounding it blazing with autumn colors. There was a melancholy feel about the place, as though it had been a long time since children had played there.

Dean looked down at himself: he was dressed in his usual clothes. His headache had gone and he couldn’t taste the dreamroot on his tongue, so that was an improvement on the real world, at least. He looked around him, wondering where he was, and that was when he saw Castiel.

He was talking to a man in a suit who was, inexplicably, standing in a sandpit. As Dean studied them, he realized that there was some sort of sigil drawn in the sand, and the man was wearing a cold expression that implied that he was probably an angel. 

“Let me in,” Castiel was saying, his voice cracked and desperate. He looked as though he had been crying.

“You’re not an angel any more, Castiel,” said the angel. “This isn’t your home. You don’t belong here.”

“I am not asking you again,” Castiel declared, taking a step forward. Dean saw the glint of an angel blade as it slid from his sleeve and into his hand. 

“You would murder me over a human?” said the angel, seeming utterly indifferent to the danger he was in. “Is that what you have become since the Fall? You are a monster.”

“I need to get into Heaven and I will not take _no_ for an answer.”

“If you kill me you will never open the portal. My replacement won’t let you in, either.”

“Then bring me Naomi. I will talk to her myself.”

The angel sighed. “You think these orders came from Naomi? They came from God Himself, Castiel. The first words we have heard from our Father in millennia. _Do not allow Castiel into Heaven._ They burned through the ears of every angel – I’m surprised you didn’t hear them too.”

“I did,” spat Castiel. He wobbled a little, unsteady on his feet, and Dean took a concerned step forward. “But this is not the first time I have disobeyed our Father’s orders.”

“No, it’s not.” The angel scowled at him. “But _I_ will never betray them.”

Castiel lifted the blade. “Please,” he gasped.

“You will never set foot in our home again.”

Dean blinked, and suddenly he was home.

Castiel was being held against the wall of the library by Sam, who had his arm at his throat. His face was red and furious, while Castiel looked even more distraught than he had a few seconds ago. It was such a shocking change of scene that Dean staggered.

“You’re not welcome here, Cas!” Sam was shouting, sounding so angry that Dean’s stomach flipped. “Goddammit, what the fuck were you thinking? Why are you here?”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Dean shouted, raising his hands for peace. “Calm down, Sammy, let him go!”

“I came to apologize, why do you _think_ I’m here?” Castiel said, gasping. He didn’t look at Dean, and neither did Sam.

“Guys!” Dean called.

“There’s no apology on Earth that could make up for what you did!”

“I know, but I have to try. I can’t have you thinking that–”

“Sam! Cas!” Dean yelled again, but neither of them noticed him. 

Sam moved his arm and shoved Castiel sideways. He overbalanced and fell to the floor on his knees, yelping in pain. “Get out of my sight!” Sam yelled.

Dean tried to step between them, horrified, and that was when he discovered there was some sort of invisible forcefield separating him from the rest of the room. He raised his hands and pressed on it, bewildered, but it was as though a warm, soft pane of glass lay before him. He shouted, making as much noise as he could, but neither of the men looked up. 

Fuck. How was he going to talk to Castiel – and more importantly, wake him up – if he couldn’t get anywhere near him?

And then, just as he was processing this revelation, the scene changed again. 

This time Dean was standing in what seemed to be a large warehouse. He sensed the space more than he saw it, though, because it was night and the room around him was pitch-black except for a beam of light that shone in through a window from a streetlight. Castiel was kneeling on the floor in the middle of the light, his back to Dean. There was something held in his arms that Dean couldn’t quite see. 

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel was saying, over and over. He was rocking the object, backwards and forwards, his voice broken and raw. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry...”

Dean lifted his hands and pressed against the barrier. “Cas!” he yelled, but there was no response. 

And then, in the blink of an eye, he was back in the playground. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean cried, placing his hands on his head in fury. “What the hell is goin’ on? This is crazy! Let me in, Cas, you freak!”

“I need to get into Heaven and I will not take _no_ for an answer,” Castiel was telling the angel in the sandbox again.

“If you kill me you will never open the portal. My replacement won’t let you in, either.”

“Then bring me Naomi. I will talk to her myself.”

Dean bashed his fists on the invisible glass before him, furious. “What the hell is with this damn wall? This isn’t how this is supposed to work!” He was completely out of his depth here: when the Djinn had zapped him all those years ago his dream had been linear, happening in real time; the same had applied to Charlie’s nightmare, which had been stuck in a loop but still made sense in its own way. Castiel’s dream kept leaping from place to place in a disorienting muddle. Was it because he was an angel and his subconscious worked in a different way to a human’s? But Castiel was actually human right now, so why was this happening?

In front of him, Castiel’s face was pale and determined. “But this is not the first time I have disobeyed our Father’s orders,” he said.

“No, it’s not. But I will never betray them.”

Castiel lifted the blade. “_Please,_” he gasped.

“You will never set foot in our home again.”

Dean watched, intrigued and frustrated, as Castiel lifted the blade. There was a scuffle. It only took seconds for the angel to throw Castiel to the ground, disarming him easily. 

Castiel was definitely human in this dream, then.

“You are pathetic,” the angel said, staring down at his opponent with disdain.

Castiel let out a sob. He rose to his knees, clutching his stomach, his head bowed. “Please... I’m begging you...”

“No.”

“I need to see Dean,” Castiel gasped, his shoulders shaking. “I have to see him. I need to say I’m sorry.”

“You will never see Dean Winchester again,” the angel said. “He is in Heaven and you are here. When you die, you will go to The Empty. Your paths will never cross again. Not for all of eternity.”

“Please, there has to be a way...”

“Move on, Castiel. Give him up.”

Dean caught his breath. _This_ was Castiel’s biggest fear? That he’d lose Dean forever? That was what all this was about? What the hell had happened–

And then he was back in the warehouse with Castiel weeping as he cradled something bulky in his arms, and Dean realized with a jolt that the bundle he was holding was _him_. 

_Castiel was crying over Dean’s dead body._

“Cas, no,” he breathed, stunned.

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel said, the words broken and painful to hear. “I’m so sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean for this to happen. If it could be me... if I could swap places... I’m so sorry, Dean, I’m so sorry...”

The scene switched again, but this time it was brand-new. Dean was watching his brother stand before a funeral pyre in a small clearing outside the bunker. Sam’s face was expressionless and pale, his jaw clenched, his eyes dry. He looked as though he’d cried himself out. It was terrible to see him standing so stiff and controlled, although when Dean’s eyes shifted to the pyre he realized that it was even worse seeing his own dead body on there, burning and smoking into ash.

“This is seriously fucked up,” he muttered, feeling sick. 

Castiel stepped into the clearing. His eyes were red and he seemed crumpled somehow, as though he was bending under a great weight. 

“If you take one more step I will shoot you,” said Sam, without taking his eyes off Dean’s corpse.

“I have to say goodbye,” Castiel told him, although he didn’t seem to be able to look at the pyre.

Sam reached into his belt and pulled out the Colt. “I won’t tell you twice.”

Castiel lowered his head. “You know me, Sam. You know I didn’t–”

The gun lifted higher, aimed straight at Castiel’s forehead. Dean gasped: the look on his brother’s face was pure murder. “Go,” Sam ordered, snarling. He turned to glare at Castiel, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes to accompany the promise of a quick death.

Castiel took a step backwards, his expression grief-stricken, and then Dean was back in the warehouse watching Castiel bend over the lifeless body in his arms, the air filled with his choking sobs.

Okay, he’d had enough of this shit now. Dean slammed his fists into the barrier one last time, but as before, it wouldn’t budge. He closed his eyes, thinking hard. How the hell could he get through to Castiel if he wasn’t allowed to go near him? This wall made no sense, but then this was a dream world and logic didn’t have to apply. Dean remembered how he’d been so happy in his own fantasy when he’d been reunited with his mom, but at the same time he’d had barely any relationship with Sam in there – and for a dream that was supposed to be set in a perfect world, it had been weird that his dad wasn’t there, too. It was as though Djinn magic could only go so far: it could conjure all sorts of crazy stuff, but the rough edges stayed on. 

This barrier was a rough edge. Maybe Dean could just... will it away. It wasn’t his dream, but he had to be in tune with Castiel’s thoughts after all the time they’d known each other, surely? And that could work in his favor. What would he do if this was the real world? What would he do if Castiel was unable to see or hear him, but he needed to contact him urgently?

He’d pray, of course. 

“Cas, I hope you can hear me,” Dean said quietly, willing his thoughts to travel through the barrier. “Come on, buddy, it’s me. I’m not dead. This is all a dream, okay? I’m alive and safe and so are you. You just gotta wake up. That’s all you need to do, Cas. Wake up. This is a dream and you can wake up at any minute.”

There was no response from the bent figure kneeling in front of him. 

“I’m praying here, Cas,” Dean continued. “I’m praying to you, Castiel, the angel, just like I’ve prayed to you a thousand times before. Come on, man, get your ears on. I’m right behind you. Please turn round and see me, okay? I’m not dead, I’m right here. I’m fine, although I’m full of that disgusting dreamroot because I had to come in here and rescue you, and I know from experience that that crap gives me heartburn for days. So that’s one thing that’s your fault, but all of this – all this shit with Sam and you tryin’ to get into Heaven and me being dead – that’s not real. None of this is real, Cas. Come on, can you hear me? Cas!”

Castiel’s shoulders twitched. His head lifted.

“Yes! That’s it! Come on, Cas, look behind you! I’m right here, man, I’m right here. I’m not dead! You’re just dreaming is all – you got whammied by a Djinn. Everything’s fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, we’re all fine. Come on, you can hear me, I know you can. Cas? Castiel!”

To Dean’s delight, Castiel slowly turned and looked straight at him. 

_At last._

His face was smeared in blood and his eyes were wild, but when he saw Dean he frowned in recognition. He glanced down at the lifeless body in his arms – and wow, Dean didn’t want to look at how mangled and beaten it was, because that was really enough to mess with his head forever. Then Castiel looked back up at Dean, his expression confused.

“I’m real, Cas,” Dean told him, placing both hands palm-first on the barrier. “Let me in, come on! This is your mind, you can make this thing disappear and everything can be cool again. I need to talk to you or you’ll be stuck in this damn world forever.”

Without warning, the wall disappeared. Dean fell forward and had to recover himself before he could move through the darkness to kneel in front of Castiel, trying desperately not to look at the broken body between them.

“They... didn’t hurt you?” Castiel whispered, looking as though he was struggling to comprehend what was happening.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s all good,” Dean replied, wondering who Castiel was referring to but deciding it didn’t matter. “None of this is real – you’re in a Djinn dream. You can wake up at any point, okay? You just conquer your fear and you’re done. You’re lying on Jody’s couch at the moment and she’s made chili for when we’re both out of your head again. You can’t get more normal than that.”

Castiel’s gaze traveled down to the body in his arms. Dean ignored it, keeping his eyes focused on Castiel’s face for his own sanity. Whatever Castiel had imagined for him, it hadn’t been an easy death. He really didn’t want to witness it.

“I thought you were gone.” Everything about Castiel seemed dazed. 

“I’m not. I’m here. I’m right here, Cas. I’m alive and all you have to do is wake up.”

Castiel shivered. “The angels wouldn’t let me see you... I couldn’t go home...”

“Again, I’m right here. It’s over. Come on, man, get your act together! This isn’t real. None of this is real, it’s just Djinn nonsense.”

Castiel looked up at him again, moving painfully slowly. “How do I know _you’re_ real?” he asked, his voice filled with despair.

Dean studied him for a few seconds, then did the only thing that felt right: he leaned forward and pressed his lips against his. 

Castiel gasped in surprise, his breath hot in Dean’s mouth.

They kissed until everything went supernova-white.

* * *

Dean sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. He was sitting on Jody’s floor next to the couch, the taste of dreamroot strong on his tongue and sunlight bright in his eyes. He blinked, disoriented, and jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Hey, you okay? Did it work?”

He blinked up at Sam, unconsciously licking his lips. He’d just kissed Castiel, but the taste hadn’t traveled back to the real world with him. Then he turned to the couch.

Castiel’s eyes were open. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, his brow furrowed. The handprint on his neck had completely vanished.

“Cas?” asked Jody, leaning over him anxiously. “You back with us?”

Castiel swallowed. “Jo...Jody?” he rasped, looking confused. “What happened?”

“You got your ass kicked by a Djinn, dumbass,” Dean said.

Castiel’s head jerked round to face him. “Dean?” 

“I had to drink that disgusting mulch thanks to you. You owe me big time.”

Blue eyes met his, their pupils unnaturally wide. Castiel went still, his expression one of abject shock. “You’re alive,” he whispered, after what Dean deemed to be a bizarrely uncomfortable pause.

“Yeah, it was just a dream, Cas. You’re back now.”

“You’re _alive..._”

And then Castiel pushed himself up off the couch and fell to his knees beside it, grabbing at Dean desperately. Dean allowed hiself to be pulled into what turned out to be the mother of all hugs, Castiel’s arms squeezing his ribcage so hard it was damned uncomfortable. Then Castiel winced, one arm going limp – his shoulder was still healing, after all – and the hug turned into a passionate, greedy kiss that Dean returned instinctively, his mind’s eye still picturing the kiss they’d shared inside Castiel’s head just a few moments before.

“Okay, so this is new,” said Jody from somewhere above them, sounding amused.

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Sorry, I guess nobody told you about... this.”

“Damn straight nobody told me, I would’ve remembered. You know, you boys _really_ need to organize a monthly newsletter.”

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * * 

What with Jody and Sam and then, later that night, Claire and the other girls arriving home, it was impossible for Dean to find a spare moment to talk to Castiel about what had happened. After the kiss Castiel had clammed up anyway, blushing a deep red and then just sitting quietly as they all ate, clearly mentally working through the things he’d seen during that bizarre mindfuck. Dean – and everyone else – gave him space, understanding how strange it must feel to have lived through that experience, but at the same time there was a fluttery, hopeful sensation in Dean’s belly that made him feel 17 years old again.

It was kind of ridiculous to hope that things had changed between them, but what the hell. Dean would take any hope he could find these days.

Jody insisted they stay the night, an invitation Dean gratefully received even if Sam looked apprehensive. And his brother was right to be worried: his nightmare screams woke every soul in the house not once but twice during the night. Consequently the drive home the next day was one filled with frazzled nerves and many yawns, and Dean couldn’t stop thinking about the worried expression on Jody’s face when she’d waved them goodbye.

Again, Dean really wanted to speak to Castiel, but of course he had another car to drive home in, visible in the rear-view mirror for most of the trip back to Lebanon. Dean saw he’d managed a short conversation with Claire, at least, but it didn’t look as though it had been a pleasant one: their relationship was fraught at the best of times, particularly after a five-year break. Castiel being human now probably just reinforced the fact he’d stolen her father’s body. That was some epic fucked-up-ness right there, no matter how you looked at it. 

For almost the entire journey, Sam said nothing. He sat and stared out at the road before them, his eyes occasionally closing, but not sleeping even though he desperately needed it.

Dean felt as though he’d been worrying about his brother and Castiel forever. 

But hey, that was his life.

* * * 

“I think we need to talk.”

Dean looked up from the sink, a wet dishcloth in his hand. Castiel was standing in the kitchen doorway, a rueful expression on his face. It had been an entire day since he’d woken from the Djinn dream and this was the first time they’d been alone. Sam was in bed already – despite it being 5pm – and Dean felt as though he couldn’t stay awake a second longer. But now...

“Yeah, I guess we do,” he replied, putting down the cloth. He rubbed his hands dry on his jeans and leaned back on the counter. “How you feelin’?”

Castiel sighed. He walked into the room as though he was about to face a firing squad, then sat heavily on one of the chairs by the table. He was wearing his sling again and his eyes looked red and sore from what Dean assumed was lack of sleep, although they also reminded him of how they’d looked in the dream world from all the grief he’d lived through. 

_Ugh._ Dean never wanted to think about that again.

But it seemed it was precisely what was on Castiel’s mind. “I don’t know how much you saw when you were in my head, but I hope...” He paused, licking his lips. “I’m sorry you had to see it, Dean. I’m sorry you were there. It wasn’t anything I wanted you to experience.”

Dean waited a moment, considering his reply; it was just long enough to prompt Castiel to look up at him, anxious. “Here’s the thing,” Dean said, then stopped. He couldn’t help but feel that Castiel regretted the kiss – both kisses. And that wasn’t what Dean wanted. The thought almost choked him, and he had to look away himself.

“Dean?”

“You know how I feel about you, Cas,” Dean said quickly, before he could change his mind. “You know I love you. You know I miss you. And what I saw in your mind... it wasn’t real, but fuck, Cas, _that_ was your worst fear? Losing me? After everything you’ve been through? You were tortured for years and years, you’ve lived for millennia, but the Djinn scoured your brain and that’s what popped to the surface?”

“It wasn’t real–” Castiel started to say. 

Dean interrupted him. “You care about me so much and yet you keep rejecting me. It’s insane. We can’t go on like this, not now I’ve seen that. I mean, godammit, Cas, a _kiss_ was what woke you up! Like a freakin’ Disney princess!”

“It wasn’t... no, Dean, it’s not what you think.”

“Really? Cause I _totally_ think you’re a Disney princess.”

Castiel didn’t seem to notice the lame attempt at humor. “The dream wasn’t about losing you, Dean. Not really.” 

Dean snorted. “Yeah? What part of you crying over my dead body wasn’t about you losing me?” And wow, that was a batshit-crazy sentence to hear coming out of his mouth.

Castiel looked down at his hands. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me!”

“That dream... it was about losing you, yes, in part. But the main thrust of it was that I... I betrayed you. It was my fault. I’m not sure how much you saw, but... you died because of me, Dean, and I never got the chance to apologize for it, to atone. I had to go on with my life knowing that you and Sam would always blame me for it. It was... awful.”

“How did you betray me?”

Castiel grimaced, then looked up at him. “That’s not important.”

“Bullshit.”

Castiel fell silent, staring at him. Dean waited, wanting to push him but scared he’d make things worse. 

“When I got there,” Castiel said haltingly, after a long pause, “I was with the demons. It was happening again. All of it. The... Sluagh. Everything.”

Dean nodded slowly, unsurprised. “I didn’t see that part.”

“They gave me a choice, and I took it. They told me that they would let me go... if I... if...” Castiel stopped, apparently unable to say it out loud. 

“It’s okay, it wasn’t real. You can tell me. There’s no judgment here, seriously.”

“It wasn’t real,” Castiel repeated, closing his eyes. “You’re right. I would never have done that, not in real life. But in there... in there I couldn’t stop myself. It seemed... logical.”

“What did you do, Cas?” Dean asked, although he thought he already knew.

Castiel shuddered. “I gave them you. I gave them you, in exchange for my freedom. And they killed you.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I can see how that would fuck you up.”

“It did,” said Castiel flatly. “It fucked me up.”

They both fell silent, contemplating. 

“I don’t get it, though,” Dean said, thinking hard. “A Djinn makes you face your greatest fear. It sounds like yours wasn’t losing me – it was betraying me.”

“That’s why it was so effective,” Castiel said, and he gave Dean a hard, cold smile. “I’ve already done it. The dream just took that concept and made it a million times worse.”

“What? How have you betrayed me?” Dean frowned. “I mean, apart from the whole Leviathan thing, and a couple other times, but you apologized for those. They’re in the past. You’ve been forgiven, Cas, come on.”

Castiel shook his head, his expression plaintive. “But you haven’t forgiven me for everything I’ve put you through recently. For me backing away from you and leaving. That’s what the Djinn could see in me, Dean – my guilt over abandoning you when I knew how much it would hurt you.”

_Wow._ Dean blinked at him, stunned. “Seriously? But... you had to do that. You were freakin’ out over the Sluagh. You needed time to recover.”

“That’s the logical way of looking at it, but I still felt guilty. That’s what the Djinn uncovered. And... I think it was fitting that the dream took that form. I really am sorry, Dean. It was selfish of me.”

That made Dean bark out a laugh. “You were traumatized, Cas. I can’t blame you for having to go away and get over what the bastard did to you.”

Castiel’s gaze was steady. “But you do.”

Dean had to look away. “Come on, man. This isn’t about me.”

“No, it’s not. It’s about _us._”

“I don’t make any secret about the fact I still want us to be together, but I would never force you, Cas. You need time to get your head together, you got it. What kind of dick would I be if I made you feel guilty for that?” But even as Dean said the words, he realized that was exactly what he’d been doing. Hell, he’d just done it a few minutes ago. “Crap. Look, never mind... I know... I know I haven’t been as supportive as I could be. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to feel like you betrayed me, that’s crazy. It’s all good.”

“I was starting to blame you,” Castiel said quietly, and he rubbed at his forehead with one hand as though he was massaging away a headache. “When you tried to take out my stitches, I couldn’t even bear for you to see me. I felt angry at you. That was wrong.”

Dean thought back to how hurt he’d been when Castiel had refused to take off his t-shirt. “Yeah... not gonna lie, that didn’t feel great.”

“None of it was your fault. But it’s so hard for me to see that. It’s logical to blame the Sluagh, not you, but my mind won’t stop conflating you both. I don’t understand why.”

Dean shrugged. “Sounds pretty human to me. Sometimes things aren’t just black and white. Emotions get stuck in the middle, even if they’re not logical.”

Castiel dropped his hand from his forehead and gazed up at him, his eyes narrowed. “I suppose losing my grace has muddied matters somewhat. My mind does feel different.”

“Your Djinn nightmare was definitely different,” Dean said, with a wry smile. “It’s like you were playing a greatest hits medley rather than playing out a story. It was pretty messed up.”

“I think it helped, though,” Castiel said, suddenly sounding wistful.

“Come again? How the hell was any of that _helpful_?”

“I realized what it would be like to never talk to you again. The whole time we’ve known each other – even when I was with the demons – I knew that at some point you’d die and you’d go to Heaven, and eventually I would return home and be able to see you.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that in the dream. That was it. You were gone forever. And it’s made me more grateful that you’re here, now.”

“I’m glad you automatically assume I’m going to Heaven,” Dean observed, grinning.

Castiel stood, wincing a little as his shoulder pained him. He came to stand in front of Dean, his expression remorseful. “I’m sorry I left you the way I did.”

Dean felt sad, all of a sudden. “You went through something terrible, dude. What the demons did to you... what the Sluagh did to you... It hurt you while it was wearing my face, Cas. I understand. You need time to recover. I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick about it.”

“I look at you and I know I love you,” Castiel murmured, and he placed a hand on Dean’s cheek. Dean couldn’t help but lean into it his palm, relishing the heat of it. “But for humans, love and sex are so entwined, and the latter has been so difficult for me...”

“I told you, it’s okay. You don’t have to–”

Castiel kissed him. It was so unexpected that Dean froze, not sure how to react, but as Castiel leaned forward and pressed him back against the sink, Dean moaned and threw his arms around him, pulling him closer. For a while there was nothing but the warmth of breath and the wetness of lips and tongues before Castiel pulled away, breathing hard. 

“I’m human now,” he said, tilting his head. “I feel more than I used to. I understand why sex is so important to you... to us. I need to, uh, get back in the saddle, as I think you’d say.”

“I’m not wearing a saddle. Not even for you.”

“I didn’t mean that literally, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean grinned at him. “This is great news, but are you sure? ’Cause I don’t want to get my hopes up and then you freak out again. This has been so tough, I’m not sure I can handle you disappearing on me another time.”

Castiel ran a hand through Dean’s hair and down his jawline. “You are my life, Dean. The Djinn showed me that.”

“Huh. Well, if Jody hadn’t killed him I would probably buy him a beer for this.”

Castiel kissed him again, but Dean pushed him away gently. “Wait. Look, you’re human now. You’re pumped full of testosterone and other crap, hence the sudden horniness. I get that. But what about when you’re an angel again? You said it yourself – angels don’t feel this way about sex. I can’t lose you again, Cas, I’m not joking about that. If there’s a chance this isn’t going to last, I’d rather not start again.” 

The words were hard for him to say: there was nothing in the world he wanted more right now than to throw Castiel to the floor and fuck him like there was no tomorrow. But there _was_ a tomorrow and it might easily break his heart again. Dean could get out now, while he was still relatively intact emotionally. The thought of investing the next few days, weeks, months or even years in a relationship with Castiel, only for the angel to dump him again because he’d powered up... 

No. Dean couldn’t stand that. 

Castiel took a step backwards, studying his face intently. “My grace is gone, Dean. I’m human for good.”

“No, you’re not. We need to get it back inside you, and pronto.”

“Why? I can be happy without it. It’s not ideal to be human, but there are benefits.” 

He reached out a hand and Dean took it, turning it over and staring at the blue veins on his wrist, feeling the pulse underneath his fingertips. “It’s not just about you,” he said, feeling exhausted again. For a few moments there he’d actually felt awake. Oh well. “It’s about Sam.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s going through hell, Cas. You’ve seen him – the memories are eating him alive. He needs shot of them or I think he’s gonna go insane.”

Castiel’s face went oddly blank. “Oh. You need me to wipe his mind.”

“You did it with me – you put all my memories of Hell in a box. And you made Lisa and Ben forget me completely. You can do all sorts of cool stuff with your angel powers, including saving Sam’s sanity.”

“I can’t find the angel who has my grace, Dean. I’ve tried everything I can think of to hunt her down.”

“Rowena said we shouldn’t be looking for the angel,” Dean pointed out. “She said we should be looking for the grace. That’s easier to track.”

Castiel’s jaw twitched. He pulled his hand out of Dean’s and stood silently for a few seconds, staring at the floor. Dean couldn’t help but feel he’d offended him somehow.

“You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Being human is hard. It’s painful and it’s messy and... and... I don’t like a lot of things. But being an angel is messy too, and...” He sighed and looked up. “I don’t want my grace back.”

“Seriously?” Dean felt as though he’d punched him.

“Seriously. I am happier without it.”

Dean blinked. “You’ve been nothing but miserable for weeks.”

Castiel shrugged. 

“But... we need to find her, Cas. She has to suffer for what she did to you and Sam. And if she has your grace, we can help him. Can’t you swallow it, heal Sam and then remove it again?”

“I might not want to remove it again, once it’s back inside me.”

“I’m confused.” Dean frowned, struggling to understand. “Your grace doesn’t change your personality, does it? When you’re an angel you’re exactly the same as you are now, only you don’t complain about having to pee all the time.”

“It feels good to be powerful,” Castiel explained. “That’s hard to give up. And I don’t feel emotions quite as keenly when I am an angel as I do as a human.”

Dean smirked. “You still feel them, though. Come on, Cas, you’re hardly a robot when you’re an angel.”

Castiel’s face fell. “I still love you as an angel, but I don’t... _want_ you.”

“Oh.” Dean pursed his lips, thinking. Perhaps he should stop making this about himself. Perhaps it was time to look at the bigger picture. “Maybe we should just focus on one thing at a time. That angel out there gave you to a bunch of sex demons, handed Sam over to that bitch murderer and now she has your grace. She seems to be obsessed with you and maybe me and Sam, too, so she needs taking down. We’ll decide what to do with your grace after that.”

“If she still has it,” Castiel amended.

“If she still has it. Once we’ve done that... we’ll see if you can heal Sam.” He dropped his voice, deadly serious. “He’s suffering, Cas, you know that. We can’t let him go on like this.”

Castiel stared at him, then nodded. “I see your point.”

“Thank you.” 

They stood in silence for a little while, coming to terms with the conversation they’d just had. 

“I guess I kind of ruined the mood, huh?” Dean said at last.

“You did, a little.” Castiel’s expression softened. “We should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m beat.”

He turned back to the sink, rinsed out the final mug and placed it on the counter. Castiel was waiting for him by the kitchen door when he turned round, and he followed him unthinkingly down the corridor to his room. When he stepped inside, however, Castiel didn’t say _goodnight_ or disappear to his own room. He lingered by the door, watching Dean carefully.

“What?” Dean asked, puzzled, and then belatedly realized what was going on. “Oh... you wanna come in?”

“Am I welcome?”

“Do bears bear? Do bees bee?”

Castiel looked puzzled. “Are you quoting _Moonlighting_?”

Dean gaped at him. “You... you understood that?”

“You were channeling Bruce Willis as David Addison, yes?”

“When... when did you ever watch _Moonlighting_?”

Castiel shrugged. “I didn’t. Metatron once gave me knowledge of popular culture, although it’s hardly comprehensive. But I understood that reference.”

Dean closed his mouth. 

“I don’t really understand how bears ‘bear’, though. Unless it’s spelled b-a-r-e. Bees can ‘be’ if it’s spelled b-e, of course.”

“Cas, it’s a joke. Wordplay.”

Castiel looked a little uncomfortable, then stared meaningfully at Dean’s bed. Dean felt another wave of exhaustion wash over him, and he found himself shaking his head. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t think I’m up for any... stuff tonight. I’m just too tired.”

“I have to admit I feel the same way. But I don’t want to sleep alone. May I sleep here?”

Castiel being forward but also hilariously polite was one of Dean’s favorite things, and he couldn’t stop a smile from breaking out as he replied, “Go for it.”

A few minutes later, teeth cleaned and some clothes removed – Castiel also kept his shoulder brace on – they were lying beside each other in the dark. It felt... peaceful. Dean really was tired out of his mind, and so the thought of doing anything sexual was a long way off, but it was pleasant having company regardless. And it seemed Castiel felt the same way.

“I’ve missed this,” he said.

Dean rolled onto his side. “I’m glad you’re back.” He placed a hand on Castiel’s chest, feeling it move up and down as he breathed. 

Castiel raised his own hand and entwined their fingers. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered.

“I know,” said Dean, closing his eyes. “Now get some sleep. Proper sleep this time. No dreaming.”

Castiel moved until he was face-to-face with Dean on the same pillow, his breath tickling his nose. And then... they slept.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> APOLOGIES! I've been poorly for over a month now, hence the lack of updates. Grrr. Here's a tiny snippet to tide things over until I can write more. Thankfully I'm feeling better now and also have lots of time off for Christmas to get some scribbling done. I hate delays between chapters, so again, sorry about the loooong wait. 
> 
> Incidentally, I just opened a Twitter account so I can explain any delays/issues there in the future, so feel free to follow that (@strangeandchar1)!
> 
> And Merry Christmas!

* * *

The good thing about them all going to bed so damn early was that Sam started screaming through his nightmares at 9pm instead of 3am. It didn’t make waking up to the sound any easier, though, even though Dean was out of bed and in his brother’s room so quickly he only remembered he’d been with Castiel once he’d already left him behind.

“Leave them _alone!_” Sam was screeching, thrashing on the bed. 

Dean snapped on the light and shook him as hard as he could. Sam woke within seconds, but it took a good half a minute before he’d recovered enough to look at Dean rather than down at his outstretched fingers. 

“You’re okay, man, you’re okay,” Dean soothed him, trying to ignore the fact his heart was trying to leap out of his throat in fear.

“My hands,” Sam cried, his face creasing in grief. “My hands, Dean, my hands. They were my hands!”

Dean understood what he was referring to in an instant: how Elizabeth had murdered people and Sam had watched. The usual nightmare, then. “She was controlling you, Sam,” he said, shaking his brother slightly. “They weren’t your hands, not really.” 

“They were still my hands!”

“Sam, calm down. You’re okay, seriously. Come on, man, _chill_.”

But before he’d even finished speaking, Sam had shoved him to one side. He threw himself out of bed and over to the basin in the corner of his room. He ran his hands under the water and scrubbed them forcefully with a bar of soap while Dean watched, a wave of sadness washing over him.

“There’s nothing on your hands, Sam,” he said softly, as his brother choked back a sob. 

“There’s blood everywhere, Dean... it’s everywhere...”

“There’s nothing there, Sammy!”

“You’re wrong! You’re wrong. There’s so much _blood..._”

A shadow appeared at the doorway and Dean looked over to see Castiel staring at Sam, his expression full of sympathy. They both watched him lather the soap over his hands, rinse it off and then start again, tears falling from his eyes and his shoulders shaking with grief. It was a pitiful sight.

“Okay, that’s enough for now, Mrs Macbeth,” Dean said at last, as Sam rinsed off his sixth layer of soap and reached for more; his cast was already wet and Dean didn’t want to think about how gross that could get if it was saturated. “Come on, take a step back. Cas, hand me that towel.”

Sam stood still as Dean dried his hands for him, though his body was still wracked with occasional shudders. He was staring down at the floor with his hair over his eyes, so Dean couldn’t see his face, but he already knew that this was bad. Usually Sam woke up, freaked out a little and then tried to fall asleep again. This had turned next-level weird.

“I think you should stay with him,” Castiel told Dean, his voice deeper than usual. 

“No, I’m fine,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just need to calm down. I’ll be okay. It was just a bad one, that’s all. Just a dream.”

“That was more than damn _dream_, Sam,” Dean observed, throwing the towel on a chair. “This shit’s got you so messed up you’re seeing actual blood on your hands now.” He’d already noticed Sam washing them a lot, but this had been frenzied. Sam had really thought there was something on his skin, and that wasn’t good by any stretch of the imagination. Had he been hallucinating? They were all so tired, Dean wouldn’t be surprised.

“It’s gone now, I’m awake. I was just half-asleep is all. I’m okay, really.” Sam looked up at Dean through bloodshot eyes and pulled an ‘innocent’ face Dean had seen too many times in his life to believe.

“I’m keeping you company tonight, sunshine,” he told him, and guided his brother back to the bed. “Come on, get in. We’ll keep the light on. And no smacking me with that damn cast, either – I’m gonna lie on your other side.”

Sam continued to protest as Dean manhandled him under the covers, then climbed onto the mattress and pulled them over himself as well. He shot Castiel a regretful look and shook his head. No more reconciliation cuddles for them tonight. 

_Sam Winchester, the ultimate cockblocker._

“Sleep well, Sam,” Castiel said. He hesitated for a moment, seemingly about to say something else, and then left. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam murmured, his face buried in his pillow. “I’m so sorry I keep waking you up.”

“We’re gonna fix this. We’re gonna find Cas’s grace and get your head put back together. I promise you.”

“Ugh.” Sam’s entire body shuddered. “I just keep seeing all the blood...”

Dean closed his eyes. “I know, Sammy. But it won’t be for much longer. I promise.”

He shouldn’t make promises he might not be able to keep; he’d learned that much by now.

But what else could he say?

* * *

It wasn’t a good night, in the end. Sam tossed and turned, waking far too often to earn any benefit from the small snatches of sleep he did manage to grab, and Dean was awake the entire time – too scared to drift off in case Sam needed him to wake him from a nightmare. So by the time morning came, both Winchesters were miserable and just as tired as ever.

Dean went back to his own room as soon as he could, finding the bed empty – he had no idea if Castiel had gone back to it or not, but either way it was moot now. He showered, stared at his haggard face in the steamy mirror and tried to remember the last time he’d felt refreshed. The memory of fucking Castiel in a motel room jumped into his head and he smiled, unable to help himself, reminded that Castiel had given him what was effectively a pity fuck just so he’d be more relaxed and able to sleep. 

There was no chance of that these days, what with Sam in the next room and _all_ of them so tired. Even if Castiel was interested in him again, Sam’s welfare came first. 

“Are we _ever_ gonna catch a break?” Dean asked the mirror, and when it didn’t answer he went off to find some coffee.

* * *

There was activity awaiting him in the kitchen: Sam was already sitting at the table and Castiel had cooked a huge fry-up for them. And he also had news.

“I called Rowena last night and she should be here in the next few hours,” he announced, scraping scrambled eggs out of a pan with surprising dexterity, given he was wearing a sling.

Dean grabbed a mug of coffee and sat down in front of Sam, shooting him a worried look that his brother studiously ignored. “Does she have any idea where to find your grace?”

Castiel placed the pan in the sink and leaned back against the counter, mirroring the way Dean had been standing the night before as they’d kissed. The memory made Dean swallow his coffee a little too quickly, and he nearly choked.

“She says she has a spell, which isn’t really a surprise. Rowena seems to have a spell for everything.” Castiel stopped. “Are you okay?”

Dean finished coughing and nodded. “Yeah, all good. Thanks for the meal. When did you learn to cook so well, anyway?”

“You haven’t tasted any of it yet,” Castiel informed him with a small smile, and he turned to the sink and started filling up the bowl to do the dishes. Dean chuckled and took a mouthful of eggs, grinning when he discovered they were delicious. “Eat up, Sammy,” he told his brother, who was staring at his plate mournfully.

“I’m not that hungry,” Sam said.

“There’s no meat,” Dean pointed out – in fact, there’d been precious little in the bunker since Sam’s return, out of respect for his sudden penchant for vegetarianism. The only one of them who’d been allowed to eat any was the cat.

“Yeah, I know. I just don’t have much of an appetite.”

“You gotta eat. Come on.”

Sam shrugged, reminding Dean of the way he’d petulantly do stuff like this as a kid just to piss off Dad, although sometimes there was a good reason for it that John couldn’t see. Dean lifted an eyebrow, studying him, then scooped a pile of eggs onto his fork and raised it in the air, angling it like an airplane. “Come on, open your mouth. Your tongue’s the landing strip and this plane’s full of tourists who need to get to Vegas to see Mariah Carey.”

Despite his obvious tiredness, that one made Sam chuckle. “No, I’m good.” He picked up a slice of toast and nibbled one corner. It wasn’t much, but Dean stood down and dug into his own meal, wishing Castiel could cook for him every morning from now on. 

_Huh._ Maybe he could. Maybe he was going to stay after all. The thought gave Dean a rush of pleasure that was as warm as his coffee.

Betsy suddenly ran through the kitchen door, her tail held high and green eyes wide with excitement at seeing them again. She trotted straight over to Dean, rubbed around his ankles, then Sam’s, and then joined Castiel at the sink, where she weaved through his legs so determinedly that he ended up drying his hands and picking her up. 

“Hello, I missed you too.”

Betsy mewed in his arms and Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can have some chicken. Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you like me.”

Dean grinned at his brother while Castiel fed the cat, but Sam’s eyes had glazed over and he was chewing his toast mechanically while staring off into space. Dean remembered how he’d scrubbed his hands with soap the night before and suppressed a shudder. Whatever was going on inside Sam’s head, it had to be really tough. 

“What time did you say Rowena will get here?” he asked Castiel.

“Probably around midday, as she wasn’t too far away. I think she was actually expecting us to call.” 

“Yeah, I bet she was,” Dean mumbled. “I think she wants your grace, Cas. We have to keep an eye on her.”

Castiel shrugged. “You don’t need to tell me that, Dean. She’s always out for herself.”

“Did she ask for any payment when you called her?”

“Another feather.”

“And... do you have one?” Again, Dean wondered about Castiel’s wings; he certainly wasn’t an angel now. Did he have a stash of them somewhere?

“I’ll be able to oblige her wish when my grace is back.” Castiel’s expression suddenly grew serious, and he gave Dean a meaningful stare. “However long that’s for.”

Dean nodded slowly, acknowledging their conversation from the previous night. 

“_Mew,_” said Betsy from the floor, standing on her back legs with her paws on Castiel’s knee, questing for chicken.

Castiel glared at her. “Alright, there’s no need to swear. Here it is.” 

He handed her the chicken slice and Dean watched absent-mindedly as it was devoured. 

“Can you do it, Cas?” asked Sam suddenly. 

“Can I do what?”

Sam turned to look at him, putting down his toast. “Can you lock the memories away in my head once you’ve got your grace back?”

Castiel nodded. “I believe I can.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, and then Sam turned back to his uneaten breakfast.

“Good,” he said.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

When Rowena arrived, she had news none of them had been expecting.

“I know who the angel is,” she announced, placing her bag on the table and flicking her flaming-red hair back over her shoulder. She looked around at them all expectantly, apparently waiting for praise or a round of applause. 

“Are you going to spill or do we have to beg?” Dean grunted, when it became clear that neither were going to materialize.

Rowena smiled in a way that reminded Dean, uncomfortably, of Crowley when he was about to lay down some kind of ultimatum. “Och, calm yourself, darling. Firstly, I should mention that I did some thinking on the way over here, and I have decided that a couple of angel feathers aren’t quite enough payment for all the beavering away I’ve been doing for you boys.”

Castiel sighed, pulling out a chair and sitting down with the weary air of someone expecting to embark upon a tough negotiation. “What do you want, Rowena?”

The witch tilted her head at him. “It seems to me, Castiel, that a smidge of your grace wouldn’t go amiss. Should we be lucky enough to reacquaint you with it, of course.”

“Now there’s a surprise,” Sam said, looking as unsurprised as it was possible to look. 

“I only ask for a wee bit,” Rowena added, batting her eyelashes. “Just enough to power a certain spell I’ve been working on that needs a kick up the bum.”

“Should we be worried about this spell?” Dean asked, not expecting a truthful reply. For all they knew, Rowena was plotting to remove all men from the planet with a click of her perfectly manicured fingers. He wouldn’t put it past her.

The witch shrugged. “Worried? It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you care about polar bears or not.”

There was a confused silence. 

“Come again?” Dean asked.

Rowena perched on the edge of the table, smoothing down her purple velvet dress. “In case you haven’t heard, polar bears are dying. This makes me sad. Poor wee cuddly beasties, unable to feed because all their lovely chilly ice is gone. Curse that pesky global warming! And all because humans are burning so much nasty, dirty fossil fuel. So I decided to do something about it. I’m creating a kind of...” She paused, gazing up at the ceiling as she chose her next words. “I suppose you could call it a ‘portable carbon dioxide bank’. It will suck excess amounts of CO2 out of the atmosphere to stop the planet warming up.”

Dean glanced at his brother: Sam suddenly looked more awake and alive than he had in weeks. “Wait, you can do that?” he asked, incredulous. “You can stop _climate change?_”

“Och, a woman can do anything if she sets her mind to it,” Rowena said innocently. “Don’t let the patriarchy tell you otherwise.”

“And what’s in it for you?” Castiel’s voice was, rightfully, suspicious.

Rowena shrugged. “The boundless gratitude of humanity, of course. For saving its collective arse.”

There was a short silence as everybody digested her news.

“You are not that altruistic,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, you have to be gaining something big from this,” Dean declared.

Rowena smiled sweetly.

“If you develop a way to reverse the damage fossil fuel is doing to our planet, it won’t be humanity in general that pays you back,” Sam said slowly, obviously feeling out a theory. 

“Of course not,” Rowena said, rolling her eyes.

“The mega-corporations doing the damage will be the ones who are grateful,” Sam continued, his eyes narrowing. “The big companies – Shell, BP, Exxon – they’ll be fighting for your solution so they can apply it and say they’re producing clean energy. They’ll be the good guys again. They’ll be willing to pay anything for that. And they have a _lot_ of money.”

“Yes, they have,” said Rowena, suddenly looking dangerous. “Lots.”

“So you want to save the planet for no other reason than to get rich?” Dean said, aghast.

“No, I want to save the planet so I can get filthy, _stinking_ rich,” Rowena amended. “Have you any idea how many billions of dollars those companies have at their disposal? And that’s without all the Russian mega-companies and the wealth they’re concealing from the eyes of the world. I will be the richest human being in history. And with Earth’s climate fixed, those polar bears will be able to eat as many juicy seals and penguins as they want. All because of my little spell.”

“There are no penguins in the–” Castiel started to say, but Dean cut him off. “You think you can save the planet with just a tiny piece of grace?” he asked, disbelieving. “How do you know you can actually do that?”

Rowena raised her eyebrows. “Have you _met_ me?”

Another silence fell. Dean looked over at Sam, who was staring at Rowena as though she was the Second Coming. Dean supposed it _was_ pretty cool knowing the only person who could stop planet Earth from roasting itself thanks to its own inhabitants’ stupidity, but at the same time... Rowena wasn’t doing it from the goodness of her heart. She was doing it to get rich. She loved the high life, after all. 

“You can do whatever you want with your magic,” Dean pointed out, genuinely puzzled. “Why don’t you just steal the money? Why do this?”

Rowena sighed. “Because ill-gotten funds always attract attention, my wee boy. The IRS never sleep.”

Dean blinked. Rowena was scared of the taxman?

“How much of my grace would you need?” asked Castiel.

Rowena shot a grateful smile at the angel, who seemed unaffected by her charms. “By my reckoning, roughly a quarter. You’d still have more than enough for all your usual smiting and burning and angelic hijinks, but you’d also be partly responsible for saving planet Earth. Quite a bargain, in my book.”

Castiel looked uncomfortable, but he seemed to be considering it. Dean frowned at him. “Are you kidding, Cas? You actually trust her on this?”

“Would I normally trust Rowena? No.” Castiel shifted in his chair, seeming awkward. “But she is correct that this would make her astronomically wealthy. And I do trust that she is greedy.”

Across from them, Sam was shaking his head, apparently still processing the news. “I just don’t understand how you could suck all the carbon dioxide from the atmosphere,” he said.

Rowena reached over the table and laid a pale hand on his. “My dear, you know that magic is just alchemy, which is nothing more than chemistry, which is nothing more than science. This is what witches _do_; we control science. Also, I’m not removing all the carbon dioxide from the atmosphere – just the excess created by humans. I’m putting everything back the way it was long before I was born, when the industrial revolution was still a dream on the horizon.” She released Sam’s hand and sighed. “If the spell is powerful enough, I may even remove a few other pollutants while I’m at it. I hear methane is becoming quite the problem for our long-term survival. Aren’t we a terrible species, doing all this damage do our dear Mother Earth? My heart _breaks_ for her.”

Sam looked into her eyes, then across at Dean. “This sounds as though it could be a good thing,” he said quietly, sounding reluctant to admit it.

“It _would_ be a good thing,” Castiel declared, squaring his shoulders; he’d clearly made his decision. He nodded at Rowena. “I grant you permission to use a quarter of my grace in your spell. Now tell us who the angel is and how to find her.”

Rowena beamed a smile at Castiel that was, Dean had to admit despite his dislike of her, radiantly beautiful. But of course she was happy: Castiel had just ensured she could rule the world. With all the money she’d rake in from the corporations, she would have more power than anybody who ever lived. Yeah, this was a phenomenally bad idea, but... maybe it was still something they should do. Dean had seen all the headlines about record-breaking temperatures, droughts and fires, and things were getting worse. The Earth needed help. 

Wow. Rowena, planet-savior. This was nuts.

“Thank you, my darling,” Rowena was saying, still smiling at Castiel. “Your offer is most generous and is gratefully received. As for the angel... well, ‘she’ is actually a ‘he’, although I suppose for angels it all depends on whatever vessel they’ve talked into receiving them.”

“Who is _he?_” Castiel ground out.

Rowena’s face grew solemn. “His name is Shemyaza.”

Castiel fell silent, staring at her. Then he looked down at the table, frowning.

“Someone you know?” asked Sam.

Castiel shook his head. “No... nobody I ever met. But of course I have heard of him. Shemyaza has always served as a warning for other angels.”

“He was a Watcher,” Rowena said, after Castiel fell silent. When Dean shot her a quizzical glance, she shrugged. “I know my angel lore, darling. They’re fascinatingly complicated. And it pays to know your enemy.”

“A Watcher?” Dean repeated. “Like Giles in _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_?”

“He was the leader of the Grigori,” Castiel explained, still staring at the table. “A group of angels assigned to watch humans, to protect them, back when humanity was young. But many of them were overcome with lust and began to fornicate. They were the source of the first nephilim.”

Dean considered this. “I’m sure that didn’t go down well with the Man Upstairs.”

“They were imprisoned,” Castiel said, his expression pained. “They were locked away, a warning to all angels not to get too close to humans.” He looked up at Dean. “They are reviled. Tormented. Shemyaza is hated almost as much as Lucifer.”

Dean swallowed, thinking hard. “So... newsflash. I guess Shemyaza was thrown out of jail when the angels fell from Heaven.”

“And he seems to be holding a grudge against me.” Castiel frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. I would assume he’d be happy to be free again. If anything, he should be thanking me, even though I didn’t mean to cause such an upheaval.”

“Och, I’m sure Shemyaza is very grateful to be here on Earth,” said Rowena knowingly; she’d obviously had a lot longer to think about the angel’s motives than they all had. “But I would presume he’s also rather angry to discover how things have changed in his absence.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Changed how? What does this have to do with Cas?”

Rowena looked from him to Castiel and back again. “Look at it this way: you spent millennia imprisoned for developing lustful feelings for humans. It was the worst sin imaginable for an angel, next to disobeying. And then...”

“...Upon your release, you discover an angel walking around who not only disobeyed and was forgiven by Heaven, but one who is in love with a human.” Castiel sighed. “Heaven has not imprisoned me for either sin. I think I can see why that would rankle.”

“A male human, at that,” Rowena added. “You don’t do things by halves, do you, my wee celestial poppet? But love conquers all, and you boys do make a beautiful couple.”

Dean tried not to bristle at her words, suddenly embarrassed, while Castiel fell silent, looking down at his hands. 

“All of this happened because an angel was jealous of Cas?” Sam said, his voice bitter.

“I would wager so, yes,” shrugged Rowena.

“This is ridiculous,” Dean said, feeling anger start to rise within him. “An angelic dickwad was imprisoned for getting frisky with some human ladies, but now that he’s free he wants revenge on the angel who released him because he’s done the same damn thing? Or more or less, anyway. I gotta say, that’s kinda pathetic.”

“It would explain why he gave me to the demons,” Castiel said, so quietly Dean had to lean in to hear him. “He was disgraced for all of eternity for having sex. It must have made sense in his mind to punish me in a similarly themed way.”

“This asshole is going to die,” Dean growled.

Sam cleared his throat. “You said you could find Castiel’s grace, Rowena. Can you bring Shemyaza here with it? To the bunker?”

Rowena patted her hair, preening. “Since I learned his name I’ve been making enquiries and also taking a few... trips. Astral projection, boys: a most wonderful way to spy, and he was much too preoccupied with himself to notice I was there. And so I’ve learnt a few wee things about this angel. One is that he is arrogant and vain, and so a direct challenge from Castiel will probably bring him running: after all, he’s been building up to this moment for half a decade. Where’s the fun in wreaking revenge on your enemy if they never know it’s you? The other thing I’ve learnt is that he is wearing Castiel’s grace around his neck.”

Dean felt a lurch of hope. “Some good news at last.”

“Pray to him, Castiel, and he’ll be here as fast as he can travel,” Rowena continued. “I have a spell that will temporarily paralyze him, long enough for you to snatch your grace. When you are more evenly matched, it will be up to you to seek your revenge.” She stopped, her expression suddenly turning softer, less cunning. Her next words sounded genuinely sad. “Boys, I’m the first to admit that I’m not a saint. I’ve killed and maimed more than my fair share in my time on this Earth. But what Shemyaza did to you, Castiel – giving you to the demons, sitting back while they tortured you for years and years... that was beyond the pale, even for someone like me. There are limits. There are codes. Shemyaza broke them all. Yes, I require payment for helping you to defeat him, but this is somewhat personal for me, too.” Her voice dropped down low. “There are no excuses for sexual violence. None.”

Her somber tone sent chills down Dean’s spine. He remembered Crowley saying something similar about Castiel’s captivity, although his words hadn’t sounded as cold as Rowena’s. Was her vehemence because of something that had happened to her in her past? 

He watched as the witch and the angel locked eyes, apparently coming to an unspoken understanding, and then Rowena was smiling that devilish smile again.

“Righty-ho, boys. I need an hour or so to prepare my trap, and then you’re free to invite our not-so-welcome visitor to your humble home.” She turned her gaze on Dean. “But first, my dear, I would very much like a nice cup of tea. Two sugars, and none of that awful American creamer; I want proper milk. Chop-chop! Get on with ye, now. Don’t keep a lady waiting.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: as this fic has followed a very rough AU timeline since somewhere around the start of season ten, I’ve surreptitiously changed certain canon events along the way, while keeping others. In this timeline, the events of _Angel Heart_ never happened; although my Castiel had already connected with Claire before that episode, he was missing by episode 10.20.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last - the big finale! I'm sorry this took so long to materialise. There will be an epilogue, hopefully soon, but in the meantime I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> And Happy New Year, everybody!

* * *

“I always thought cats and witches went together,” said Dean.

He was staring at Betsy, who was, in turn, staring balefully at Rowena. They were seated at opposite ends of the map table: Rowena in a chair, the cat delicately posed on the table itself. Half an hour before, Betsy had entered the room and trotted up to Rowena in her usual friendly way – but the moment their eyes met, the cat had hissed and backed off. Now she was glaring at the witch as though it would be dangerous to let her out of her sight. Every now and then the tip of her tail twitched, as if it couldn’t decide whether to wag in anger or to simply lie still. 

“Familiars aren’t really my thing,” Rowena said disdainfully, turning a page in her book. “Over the years I have come to realize that I work best alone. Also, cats shed.”

Dean remembered meeting a witch’s familiar once: a woman who could turn into a cat. Or maybe she’d been a cat who could turn into a woman. Who knew? She’d been hot, though. He smiled at the memory, then shot a rather guilty look at Castiel, who was seated a few chairs away from Rowena, staring up at the door to the bunker. His expression was unreadable, but Dean could sense his nervousness. He’d removed his sling, which made him look almost his old self again, but he was still pale and a little bruised. Beside him sat Sam, whose face was so washed-out and exhausted that just looking at him made Dean’s heart ache. But he seemed alert, glancing up at the door himself from time to time, idly tapping the angel blade in his hand on his cast. He didn’t look strong enough to use it, but Dean was hardly going to take it away from him. 

There was a blade in Dean’s belt, too. They were all armed. Rowena seemed confident that her magic could confine Shemyaza without him suspecting anything beforehand, but Dean knew too well that over-confidence could be a bad thing. They’d been confident before, back when Crowley had tried to eject the demon from Sam’s body: only Rowena’s intervention had saved the day then. Now they were in the same position – awaiting a powerful visitor and hoping to trick them. 

Man, Dean was sick of all of this shit. He tried to focus on the future: a future in which this angel asshole was dead. Castiel’s grace would be back inside him; his captivity would have been avenged and Sam would have all his memories of being possessed by Elizabeth Rathborne locked up inside a box in his head. No more nightmares, no more angst. Life could go on. They could be happy. Maybe the universe would actually let them live in peace for a while. 

And as if all that wasn’t enough, Rowena was even going to save the planet. That was one hell of a bizarre side-effect of this plan, but as long as she was serious about it – and Dean felt that she was – he was finding it difficult to hate her right now. Although it wasn’t as though he _liked_ her, of course. She just seemed slightly less evil than usual.

“_Mew,_” said Betsy, suddenly rising to her feet.

Castiel glanced over at the cat, then up at the door again. “He’s here.”

Dean spared a moment to wonder if Betsy was psychic, but then he heard what she’d heard: footsteps, coming down the steps to the door. At the same moment Rowena jumped up, clutched her bowl of witchy ingredients and darted through the door to the library, vanishing from view. A few seconds after that, the door to the bunker creaked open.

“So there you are, Castiel,” said Shemyaza, stepping onto the balcony.

He was wearing the vessel Dean recognized from all those months ago when they’d saved him from some angels who were hunting him – now, of course, Dean understood why he’d been so unpopular. In gratitude, Shemyaza had given them the address of the bar in Utah where Castiel had been hanging out. Whether the whole thing had been a set-up, Dean had no idea, but either way, here he was. The woman he was inhabiting was almost as tall as Dean, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, in her mid-twenties and dressed conservatively. It was weird to think that there was actually a man inside that body; an appropriately twisted echo of when Elizabeth had been inside Sam.

“Shemyaza,” growled Castiel, standing up. Somehow he looked stronger than Dean had seen him look in an age, almost physically radiating power and righteous anger. It was as though he was an angel again.

Their visitor walked slowly down the stairs, looking Dean and Sam up and down, no doubt noting their weapons but dismissing them as weak humans. He came to a halt at the base of the steps, placing his hands in his pockets as though he’d just strolled into a Biggerson’s to order some fries rather than a Men of Letters bunker filled with people who wanted him dead. 

“I wondered how long it would take for you to realize it was me,” he said. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you for a while now.”

Castiel’s mouth formed into a bitter smile. “It seems I have a lot to thank you for,” he replied, his sarcasm painful to hear.

Shemyaza mock-bowed. When his human host stood straight again, her eyes were cold. “I was rather disappointed to hear that you enjoyed your time in confinement, Castiel. After all, it was supposed to be a punishment.”

“Enjoyed?” Castiel choked on the word. 

“Yes, _enjoyed_. More than one source informed me that you begged for all kinds of sexual pleasures. Your nickname suits you perfectly, doesn’t it? Filthy. Angel. Whore.”

Castiel’s expression hardened.

“How could you do that to him?” Dean asked, unable to keep silent any longer. “He’s your brother, you asswipe. You made his life hell. He’d never done anything to you – other than freeing you from rotting in jail – and then you made it your life’s mission to torture him! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Shemyaza’s eyes swept across to Dean and he smiled. “Ah, Dean. I remember how concerned you were for your darling Castiel when we met previously. Have you enjoyed your time together? Have you rutted enough for all his many lifetimes?”

“What we do is none of your freakin’ business,” Dean spat, feeling white-hot rage pour down his spine. With a shiver of recognition, he was suddenly reminded of the things Elizabeth Rathborne had said while inside Sam’s body: no wonder these two, angel and demon, had teamed up to cause trouble. They were almost brain twins.

“It is my business when I am punished for loving a human woman but my brother is allowed to fuck a human male without fear of consequence,” snapped Shemyaza, his eyes flashing blue with sudden fury. “All those years, wasted! I spent millennia in prison knowing I would never see my love again, and the whole time Castiel was laughing at my fate while fornicating to his heart’s content!”

“I was _not_ laughing at you,” Castiel said, sounding as angry as Dean felt. “Dean and I have only known each other a few years. Until that point Heaven regarded celestial relationships the same way they always had. They still do, in many ways – there are those who feel my behavior is shocking and I deserve punishment. But times have changed, Shemyaza. They changed in Heaven _and_ on Earth, for the most part. It is now possible to love who we want, how we want.” He took a step closer to the angel, whose mouth had formed into a sneer. “Your petty revenge against myself and both of the Winchesters is beneath you and beneath all of our kind. You should be ashamed of causing so much grief when you, too, were forced to lose someone you love. This should have taught you empathy, not hatred.”

“My time in jail taught me that revenge tastes sweet,” Shemyaza hissed, locking eyes with Castiel but jabbing a finger at Dean. “I will kill him. I have been wronged. I demand recompense.”

“I was not the one who wronged you,” Castiel hurled back at him. 

“You could have argued for my release!”

“I had other things on my mind – there was a war in Heaven. For _years_. And more importantly, I never even knew you. In all our eons of existence I have barely even given you a passing thought.”

“But you knew that I was there, Castiel. You knew fornication with humans was wrong because I was the poster child for such behavior. And yet you still coveted the pleasures of the flesh. You do not deserve what I was denied!”

“Nor do I deserve your anger, Shemyaza. You cannot live your life with such–”

“How _dare_ you presume to know–”

A woman’s voice suddenly rang out. “_Now, now,_ boys! This bickering is starting to get embarrassing. Put a sock in it.”

Shemyaza turned to face Rowena, eyebrows raised in surprise. Either he genuinely hadn’t realized she had been in the other room, or he more likely hadn’t cared. But then his expression changed to one of horror when the witch said a word Dean didn’t hear because it was accompanied by a _whoosh_ of wind and fire. 

The light in the bunker turned purple, then orange, and when it died down Shemyaza was standing stiffly at the foot of the stairs, unblinking and frozen.

“Go! Get your grace, Castiel, before this wears off,” Rowena ordered, sounding a little out of breath. “You have a minute at most. Hop to it!”

Castiel was standing in front of Shemyaza a second later, pulling apart his coat and yanking at his shirt. He tugged the collar, patting down his pockets and lapels; then he turned to Rowena, looking panicked. “You said he was wearing it around his neck!”

Rowena frowned. “He... he was. Every time I saw him. It was in a wee glowing vial.”

Castiel searched again, his movements growing frantic. “It’s not here!”

“Shit,” snapped Dean, and pulled his lighter from his pocket. “Step back, Cas. Now!”

Shemyaza’s frozen expression was starting to change; his eyes were moving to and fro, glaring at Castiel and Rowena in turn. Castiel searched his petrified form one more time and then, with a growl, jumped backwards. Dean dropped the lighter and the ring of holy oil they’d poured around the base of the staircase caught fire, the flames licking hungrily at the air.

Less then five seconds later, Shemyaza broke free of Rowena’s spell and could move again.

“You think this will hold me for long?” he yelled, shooting Rowena a look that could have curdled milk. Dean was surprised to see her take a step backwards in shock: it was rare to see her so rattled. 

“It’ll hold you until we can figure out what to do next,” Sam said. 

It was the first time he’d spoken since the angel’s arrival, and his voice was calm and reasonable. He stood up slowly, pushing his chair back and walking over to stand in front of Shemyaza, angel blade half-raised in his hand. “Tell us where Castiel’s grace is,” he demanded, in a measured, commanding tone that gave Dean a surge of pride.

“Why would I carry the grace back to the angel who wants to kill me?” Shemyaza said, incredulous. “Of course I didn’t bring it! Do you think I am a fool?”

“I think you’re a dick,” said Sam. He raised the blade. “Tell us where it is.”

Dean came to stand at his side. Castiel joined them, glaring at Shemyaza with so much intensity that it made the hair on Dean’s neck prickle upwards. Wow – his brother and Castiel were pretty badass when they wanted to be. But their proximity made no difference to the angel inside the ring of fire: he stared at them in fury for a few moments, then threw his head back and laughed.

Dammit, why did the bad guys always throw their heads back and laugh just when Dean had them cornered? It almost always meant they were about to escape. Was there something they’d overlooked?

“I cannot believe you think you have beaten me,” said Shemyaza, grinning fiercely. “This holy fire is no barrier and your pet witch is no match for my strength.”

“I’m nobody’s pet, _pet,_” snapped Rowena from somewhere behind Dean’s back.

“Where is my grace?” Castiel demanded.

“You do not deserve it!” Shemyaza cried, his vessel’s face turning red as he seethed. “Why should you live the life I always wanted to live? Why you? Why not me?”

“Because the Grigori abused their power,” said Castiel flatly. “They raped and murdered human women and deserved to be punished. And you were in charge of them.”

Shemyaza spat on the floor, which seemed a bizarrely un-angelic thing to do. “I did none of that. Nothing! My battalion were acting on their own urges. I only discovered their behavior when Michael imprisoned me.”

Castiel shook his head. “You really expect me to believe that you, their leader, knew nothing of their actions? They sired nephilim – you didn’t feel them come into existence? All of Heaven shook at their creation!”

“I didn’t know!” Shemyaza’s expression was so unexpectedly earnest that, despite his hatred of the angel, Dean suddenly found he believed him. “I was distracted! I didn’t know that my squadron had gone rogue. I thought the nephilim were sired by other angels – and I didn’t care because I was with my Rachel. My wonderful, beautiful Rachel. She was my life, Castiel. She was everything to me. She was...” He stopped, breathing hard. “You are so lucky. You have your beloved. I lost mine, forever. I cannot find her in Heaven, Castiel. She was cast down to Hell for loving an angel. Will the same thing happen to _him_?”

He nodded at Dean, who stared back at him, wide-eyed. That was not a cheerful thought.

“No, because he is a good man,” Castiel said softly. “He is better and more righteous as a human than you ever were as an angel. You... you are filled with hatred. You gave me to _demons._”

His voice cracked on the word and Dean shot him a worried look. Without thinking, he moved to stand on the other side of Sam so that he could take Castiel’s hand, squeezing it supportively, taking care not to move his injured arm. 

Shemyaza stared at them both as he did so, his face wavering a little in the heat haze from the flames. “Look at you,” he murmured, sounding sad. “An angel and a human. So in love. Heaven no longer forbids the very crime that destroyed my life.”

Castiel took a deep breath, looking up from Dean’s hand to gaze at Shemyaza. “You can accept this or you can continue to fight it,” he said. “Your anger and bitterness are still destroying you. Make a choice, my brother. Be at peace.”

There was a painful, loaded silence. And then Shemyaza smiled, his eyes narrowing. “Why should I cheer on your happiness when mine was denied me?”

“Look out!” cried Rowena from behind them.

Dean suddenly realized that the holy fire was dimming, the oil almost exhausted. It didn’t usually happen that quickly – what was happening? They should have at least another ten minutes! He reached for the jar on the shelf beside him to replenish the supply, but it was too late. 

The flames extinguished.

Shemyaza’s eyes shone with victory. “If you’d had your grace, Castiel, you would have sensed that this oil wasn’t pure. Whoops.”

“Crap,” Dean spat, and that was all he had time to do before he found himself lying on his back on the map table, his arms outstretched beside him, a tremendous, invisible force on his chest holding him down. He struggled vainly against it, gasping for breath through the inexplicable weight, but it was too strong and he was trapped. He was aware that something was happening beside the table – a fight, and a desperate one from the sound of it – but to his despair he couldn’t even move his head to look; even his eyeballs felt sluggish in their sockets, fixed in place. He groaned in fury at his impotence. What the hell was going on?

“Get out of my way!” Shemyaza roared, and Dean heard an ominous-sounding _thump_ from across the room as something heavy – something human-shaped – collided with a wall. A clattering sound followed; an angel blade hitting the floor. Was that Sam or Castiel? Dammit, neither of them were a match for a fully-powered angel. Were they okay? Where was Rowena? Couldn’t she help them?

And then Shemyaza leapt onto the table and stood above him, feet planted on either side of his waist, glaring down at him with utter hatred. 

“Nobody understands the pain I have lived,” he said.

“Tell it to your shrink, he might give a damn,” Dean threw back at him.

Shemyaza fell to his knees, straddling Dean’s body. He lifted his blade ominously. “No angel shall ever love again,” he declared. “I do this for my Rachel. She died alone and so must you.”

He lifted the blade to Dean’s throat. 

Something small, black-and-white and screeching flew from nowhere and hit Shemyaza hard in the chest. He overbalanced, dropping the blade, and then the thing was attacking his face, yowling like a creature possessed. Dean was so stunned he only realized it was Betsy when Shemyaza finally managed to pull her off him by her neck, holding the wriggling, flailing cat above his now-bleeding face in astonishment. 

“Loyalty? From a _cat?_” he said, shaking her like a toy. 

“Let her go!” Dean yelled.

Shemyaza looked from the cat to him and then back again. “You have strange allies,” he said. 

And he snapped Betsy’s neck with a disgusting _crack_.

Dean cried out in horror. She had just sacrificed her life to save him. Poor Betsy. Poor, innocent Betsy. She was just a cat, but he felt as though his heart had broken. 

Shemyaza tossed the limp, furry body to the floor and picked up the angel blade. “Where were we?” 

But something was happening in the room around them. A breeze had sprung from nowhere, ruffling Shemyaza’s blonde curls. He looked around in suspicion as the wind picked up, throwing papers and books through the air, and then suddenly there was a bright, blinding light and a whining, buzzing sound that almost hid a woman’s voice, which was chanting loudly. 

_Rowena!_ Dean thought, straining to lift his head, and then the light grew so bright he had to slam his eyelids shut – although he could still see the glare through them and it was nearly blinding, so bright it actually hurt, and he almost bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming at the sheer force of it...

Everything went dark. At the same instant, the weight on Dean’s chest disappeared. He opened his eyes just in time to see Shemyaza fly across the bunker and hit the bottom of the staircase with a _crash_ that made the entire metal framework ring like a bell. 

“That cat was my _friend,_” said Castiel.

Dean rolled off the table and stood upright, slightly unsteadily. Castiel was standing before him in his full angel glory – eyes glowing, majestic, filled with purpose and fury. Dean looked to his side and saw Sam sitting upright against a wall, blood snaking down one side of his face, holding the cast on his arm as though it hurt him. He was staring at Castiel too, which meant he was lucid, and so Dean assumed he was reasonably okay and turned to see Rowena in the doorway to the library, leaning on the wall with one hand and holding a spellbook in the other. 

Their eyes met and she nodded, breathing hard, her hair disheveled but her expression proud. 

Somehow she’d summoned Castiel’s grace from wherever Shemyaza had hidden it. Somehow it had made its way into the bunker despite the warding. Somehow she’d saved all of their lives.

Although the fight wasn’t over yet. Shemyaza jumped to his feet, his face contorting in rage, and suddenly his eyes were glowing as brightly as Castiel’s. He lifted a hand, his fingers twinkling with blue light.

“Get down, Dean!” Castiel yelled, and he obliged as a bomb seemed to go off around him. Items were still falling from shelves by the time he looked up again, his heart in his mouth, to discover Castiel and Shemyaza grappling with each other, punching and lunging with more power than the best prizefighters on Earth. Dean watched in amazement for a few moments before remembering that he had an angel blade in his belt and could help out at any point – but the pair were moving too fast, hitting walls and cracking tiles from the force of their bodies, and so instead Dean retreated to his brother’s side and patted him on the cheek.

“You okay?”

Sam nodded, looking a little dazed. “Just some bruises. Dean, I think that guy’s stronger than Cas. We have to help him.”

Dean turned to look, knowing that Castiel’s powers did have their limits these days, and sure enough he discovered that Castiel was pinned against a wall by two hands around his neck. 

“The demons... were too gentle... with you...” grunted Shemyaza, his face a mask of anguish and fury.

“You are an abomination,” Castiel replied, and brought his fist down on his attacker’s wrist so hard that Dean heard the bone break. But before Castiel could free himself, Shemyaza roared and, Hulk-like, picked him up by his lapels, launching him across the bunker and through the archway into the library. Castiel landed on his back, sliding across the floor and hitting one of the table legs head-first. He lay still, clearly stunned, and Dean felt a jolt of terror at the sight of him so helpless.

Rowena squeaked and ran for her life as Shemyaza followed Castiel into the library. Dean watched her disappear into the corridor as he stalked after the angel himself, but Shemyaza seemed to sense that he was there. He turned to face him, opening his arms wide. Dean swiped with the blade as quickly as he could – but to no avail. The weapon was yanked out of his hand and Dean was shoved backwards into the map room, rolling painfully down the steps.

“You won’t die as quickly as your cat,” Shemyaza hissed at him, tossing the angel blade he’d just stolen from one hand to the other. Then he turned back to Castiel, who was trying to get to his feet and failing. Blood was pouring from a nasty cut on his forehead where he’d hit the table. 

“Your quarrel is with me,” Castiel said shakily. “Let him go.”

Shemyaza laughed. “Silence, you filthy angel _whore_.”

From the floor, Dean lifted his head to watch hopelessly as Shemyaza raised a hand and held it out, palm-first, in Castiel’s direction. He clearly tried to do something with it – shoot lightning, blast him to pieces; Dean had no idea. Yet nothing was happening. The angel turned his wrist to look at his palm quizzically, then tried again, to no avail. The look of exasperation on his face was almost comical. 

“What have you done to me?” he muttered, straining against a force Dean couldn’t see.

Castiel lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers experimentally, apparently experiencing the same thing. He frowned, then glanced at the wall beside him and, inexplicably, smiled. 

“It would seem we’ve both been brought down to earth,” he said, rising to his feet. 

Shemyaza dropped the blade and threw himself at him. Both angels landed on the table, Shemyaza’s hands around Castiel’s throat. He screamed like a wild beast as he tightened them around his victim, twisting and squeezing harder and harder while Castiel struggled beneath him, his face turning red. 

Dean realized this was his chance. He crawled up the steps and retrieved the angel blade, then staggered to his feet and headed towards the table, raising it high. One stab in the back and all of this would be over. One stab. That was all it would take. One stab...

Shemyaza’s head twisted around, his eyes narrowing. He knocked Dean backwards with a solid fist-punch to the stomach and that was it: Dean landed on the floor with a thump, every ounce of air shoved out of him. He blinked up at the ceiling as he tried over and over again to draw breath. 

_Dammit. So close._

But Dean’s actions had given Castiel time mount a defense. Shemyaza suddenly screamed and fell back onto the floor, landing beside Dean with light flaring out of a wound on his shoulder. Still gasping for air, Dean rolled his head to look at him. Their eyes met for a couple of seconds. The angel’s gaze was filled with such hatred that it hit Dean as hard as the punch had done. 

Castiel was suddenly standing above them – his own, now-bloodied, angel blade in his hand. “I don’t want to kill you,” he said, his voice deep and filled with regret.

Shemyaza snorted. “Filthy... angel... _whore_!”

Castiel’s face twisted in pain and he lifted the blade... but Shemyaza moved with superhuman speed, kicking Castiel’s legs out from beneath him. Castiel fell to the ground and the blade slid across the wooden floorboards until it sat under the table, out of reach. Then Shemyaza was back on top of Castiel and choking him again, ignoring the light flaring from the wound on his shoulder, spittle flecking his lips. His eyes bulged and he seemed absolutely insane.

A gunshot rang out. Shemyaza jerked, blood flaring on the back of his gray coat.

Dean twisted his head to see his brother on his knees a few feet away on the steps to the library, holding a gun before him with trembling hands. 

“That’s for giving me to Elizabeth,” Sam gritted out.

It wasn’t enough to stop an angel – Dean knew that. It could only distract him. But he’d take anything he could right now; Castiel needed it.

“You are getting on my nerves!” yelled Shemyaza, raising a hand towards Sam, but even as Dean braced himself for some kind of _zap_, he realized that nothing was going to happen. He was right: Shemyaza cursed as he glared at his hand, belatedly remembering as well. Something was blocking the majority of the angels’ powers in this room: what the hell was it?

Dean glanced over at Castiel. To his surprise, the angel – still lying flat with one hand around his neck – seemed to be trying to tell him something. He was rolling his eyes to look at the wall beside them, frowning, straining to get some kind of message across. Baffled, Dean struggled to his knees, wondering what the hell Castiel was trying to say. Then Shemyaza had turned his back on Sam and began strangling Castiel again, panting harshly like a dog, oblivious to anything except revenge.

Dean looked up at where Castiel had been looking. What was going on? What was so special about the wall? Castiel clearly wanted him to do something, but... what...?

And then it hit him. Back when they’d brought the possessed Sam here, they’d drawn runes on the walls of the library to keep the demon’s powers down while they exorcised her. They were still there, hidden behind furniture and bookcases. Perhaps they were affecting the angels’ abilities, too. Maybe they were the reason this room was some kind of celestial power dampener. That had to be it – he couldn’t think of anything else that could be causing it. 

Suddenly he knew exactly what Castiel needed him to do. He climbed to his feet, one hand flattened on his bruised stomach, and lurched over to the wall. He yanked on the bookcase until it fell on the floor with a tremendous crash. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shemyaza look up at him, startled, but he ignored him; instead he lifted a hand and raked his fingernails as hard as he could through the giant rune painted on the wall, feeling them snap as he pressed too hard. Pain flared in his fingertips, but he didn’t care. He needed to break the symbol and turn off this ward. As soon as he did that...

A ripple went through the room, like a small sonic boom. 

A light flared behind Dean’s back and he turned to see what had happened.

Castiel’s powers had activated again and, unlike Shemyaza, he’d been ready for their return. Taking the other angel completely by surprise, he’d shoved him off his body with a bolt of blue energy. As Dean watched, the angel blade flew up from the floor and into Castiel’s hand. A moment later, before his foe could even comprehend what was happening, it was buried up to the hilt in Shemyaza’s heart.

“I am _not_ a whore,” Castiel growled.

Shemyaza’s grace exploded. Dean covered his eyes, feeling the warmth and strange coldness of the angel’s death wash over him.

The light died. The bunker fell silent aside from the sound of Castiel’s harsh panting.

“You did it,” Dean breathed, gazing down at Shemyaza’s lifeless body.

“Yes,” said Castiel, his voice emotionless.

“It’s over,” Dean said, disbelieving.

There was a noise behind him and Dean jumped. Sam had dropped the gun to the floor, putting one hand on the ground to steady himself. 

“You alright?” Dean asked, dropping to his knees beside his brother.

“Are you?” Sam said in return, nodding at Dean’s bloody fingers and the hand held on his stomach.

“I’ve had worse.”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, so have I.”

Castiel dropped the angel blade to the floor with a clang. He peeled his eyes away from Shemyaza, stepped past Dean and Sam and walked slowly into the map room. Coming to a halt by the table, he bent down and picked up Betsy’s broken body, cradling her to his chest.

“She saved my life,” Dean said, sadness clenching his heart. _That damn cat._

“I saw,” said Castiel. “She was very brave.”

“You have your grace now,” Sam said softly. “Can you bring her back?”

Castiel shook his head. “My affinity lies with human souls. I am unable to reunite an animal’s soul with its earthly body. They move in different ways.” He sighed, stroking Betsy’s chest. “I am so sorry, little one. You were a good friend.”

“Do cats go to Heaven?” Dean asked, because he needed to know.

Castiel closed his eyes and kissed Betsy’s head. He took a deep breath before looking across at Dean. “All animals go where they will find love. So yes, cats go to Heaven.”

Dean swallowed, suddenly feeling a little tearful.

“I thought that went rather well,” said a voice behind them. Rowena stepped into the library, casting a thoughtful eye over the angel’s body on the floor before grinning widely at Dean. “I mean, there were a few bumps along the way, but we’re all alive now. So that’s a nice wee bonus.”

“We lost Betsy,” said Dean, his voice hollow.

Rowena glanced across at Castiel. “Och, the kitty? Oh well, no more cat hair messing up your lovely flannel shirts.”

“Rowena,” Sam hissed, his voice dangerous.

“What? It was just a cat.”

“She saved my life twice,” Dean said.

“A useful cat, then.” She frowned. “Is she the one responsible for the hole downstairs?”

Dean shook his head, too tired for Rowena’s enigmatic nonsense right now. “What hole?” 

“The one Castiel’s grace came through. The front door was closed tight and there wasn’t another way into the bunker, but I found a wee little tunnel that came in rather handy. Without it, Castiel’s grace would have been bumping against the windows, stuck outside, and all of this would have ended very differently.”

Somehow, despite everything, this seemed very important. Dean climbed to his feet, wincing. 

“Show me,” he ordered the witch.

* * *

The shooting gallery was deep underground and enclosed in concrete, but there was a grille in the wall in one corner that Dean had never spotted before. He dropped to his knees before it. It was hanging by one screw, making it simple to push out of the way to reveal a small tunnel behind the metal. There was black cat hair lining the entrance, and paw prints outlined in mud on the floor. 

This was how Betsy had been able to get in and out of the bunker. 

This was why the wards weren’t working. 

This was where Castiel’s grace had glided into the building. 

“Your little pussy dug a tunnel on the other side to get in,” Rowena was saying, running a finger along a nearby shelf and grimacing at the dust on her fingertip. “The grille on that side had fallen off, and I assume the tunnel had been covered in earth since, but she must have seen a wee mousie and wanted to go after it.”

“How the hell did you know this was here?” Dean asked.

Rowena shrugged. “Before I could cast the spell to retrieve the grace, I had to make sure it could get in here, so I cast another spell to find a weakness. I could see it clearly. The hole in the exterior is hidden behind a bush, you wouldn’t be able to see it without magical eyes.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m a clever lassie, aren’t I?”

“Betsy’s the clever one,” Dean muttered, gazing at the grille. After all these weeks, they finally knew her secret. But she wasn’t here any more. Dean wanted to hug that cat more than anything else in the world right now. 

“You’re an ungrateful lout, has anybody ever told you that?”

Dean looked up at Rowena, feeling exhaustion seep into every atom of his body. “Thank you, Rowena,” he said, and he meant it. “You saved our lives too.”

Rowena opened her mouth to reply, her expression filled with pride. But then she closed it again, hesitating. Perhaps she read something in Dean’s face, because she simply nodded gently and held out a hand to help him up. 

“Come on, my boy,” she said, as he stared at her hand in weariness. “You need a good night’s sleep and I need to get these heels off before my tootsies start to swell.”

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this rollercoaster ends! Thank you all for reading and for all your lovely feedback. I hope you enjoy this final chapter - I think it goes out with a bang. ;)

* * *

By the time Dean and Rowena returned to the library Castiel had clearly just healed Sam; he was peeling the last chunks of cast from his arm with a palpable sense of relief. The blood on his face had vanished and he looked a million times better than he’d looked in days, although he still seemed pale. Dean grinned at him, thrilled to see his brother almost back to his old self, and tilted his head at Castiel.

“Any juice left for me?” 

Castiel half-smiled. “Of course.” He held out a palm and placed it on Dean’s forehead. Warmth tickled him from top to toe and every ache in his body disappeared. He sighed, reveling in feeling human again – although it wasn’t quite the full re-energization he’d hoped for, as he still felt as though he needed to sleep for a week. Perhaps Castiel wasn’t quite up to full power yet after his fight.

“Don’t go wasting all that precious grace, my wee angel pal,” observed Rowena, echoing Dean’s thoughts. “You have a debt to pay.” 

Castiel nodded, folding his arms. “I’d like some time alone with Sam first.”

Rowena looked from him to Sam and raised her eyebrows. “Hang on a jiffy, I thought you were knocking booties with Dean, not his brother. Are you bangin’ them _both_? No wonder Shemyaza was ticked off with ye – you’re nabbing all the hunks.”

Castiel and Sam both looked equally scandalized at her words. “That is absolutely not what is happening,” said Castiel, at exactly the same time as Sam said, “Wait, what? No, that’s not it – my god, why would you...”

Rowena laughed, patting Sam on the arm with exaggerated fondness. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I’ll go and find myself some wine while you two do what you need to do. Don’t exhaust yourselves, now.” 

She disappeared out of the room, leaving Dean shaking his head in her wake. “Well, you can say one thing for Rowena: she’s entertaining. Although half the time I don’t know if I want to high-five her or slap her.”

His brother scowled. “I don’t really like the idea of her on her own in the bunker. She might steal something powerful.”

Castiel interrupted that train of thought. “Sam, it would be best if you sat down.”

Sam shot Castiel a nervous look and pulled out a chair. “So how will this work?” he asked, clearing his throat. 

“Just close your eyes. There may be some discomfort as I sift through your memories, but once I have collected them all and locked them away, you will feel much better.”

“It can’t be _that_ traumatic to go through,” Dean pointed out, trying to reassure his brother. “I can’t even remember when Cas did it to me. I didn’t even know there was a box in my head for years.”

Castiel shot him a sharp look. “You were still in Hell when I boxed up your nightmares, and you were mostly insane at the time.”

Dean swallowed. “Uh, well. I guess I’m glad I don’t remember.”

“Okay, Cas, I’m ready,” Sam said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Dean watched, fascinated, as Castiel placed a palm flat on Sam’s forehead. The angel closed his eyes as well, frowning, and for a long moment nothing happened. Then Sam made a soft moaning sound in the back of his throat, shifting a little in the chair, and Castiel nodded. “There we are,” he breathed softly. “Don’t worry, Sam, you will never see these images again.”

Castiel’s hand began to glow. His eyes snapped open, shining blue with concentration as he used his powers. Sam moaned again, trying to pull away from Castiel’s touch, and Dean automatically lifted a hand to hold him still. “No,” snapped Castiel, without looking at him. Dean backed off, wincing in sympathy as his brother began to pant hard, whining in pain. They stayed frozen in place for well over a minute and then, with a nod, Castiel dropped his hand and stepped backwards.

“There,” he said, sounding relieved.

Sam opened his eyes, his breathing ragged. He stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “Is that it?” he said, a little hoarse. “Is she gone?”

“You will sleep peacefully tonight and every night,” Castiel told him, before smiling a wry smile. “Although of course I can’t guarantee you won’t have nightmares about other things.”

“Thank you, Cas,” Sam said. He stood, still staring at his hands, and then to Dean’s surprise – and Castiel’s – he threw his arms around Castiel and hugged him. He was huge, all hair and arms, and for a moment Dean was reminded of Chewbacca.

“You’re welcome, Sam,” said Castiel, huffing out a breath of amusement. “I’m glad I could help. This entire affair was my fault, if indirectly, so it was the least I could do.”

Sam released him and looked down at his hands again. “I won’t see the blood any more,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Dean clapped him on the back. “Come on, man, let’s eat, drink and get some shut-eye. This has been a long week.”

Castiel sighed, looking down the corridor towards the kitchen. “I would join you, but Rowena needs some of my grace, and then... I have to... see to Betsy.”

The three of them paused for a moment, remembering the cat’s sacrifice.

“Uh, we also need to get rid of that,” Sam declared, nodding at Shemyaza’s body on the floor. 

Dean wrinkled his nose. “We _really_ need a maid.”

* * *

Given the crazy lives they led, there was already a well-worn procedure in place when it came to removing corpses of all kinds from the bunker: they were dumped unceremoniously in a quarry a few miles away. It was dark outside and nobody saw Dean and Sam add one more body to the roped-off lake, pausing to check it sank thanks to all the rocks they’d tied to Shemyaza’s torso.

Dean had lost count of all the monsters – and occasional humans – they’d thrown in there. And yet what freaked him out the most was how normal hiding bodies seemed when you were a hunter. What a world they lived in.

“We’re back,” he yelled when they returned to the bunker, but Rowena was the only one who walked up to greet them as they descended the staircase. She was carrying her bags and had her coat on.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked.

“Outside somewhere, burying your kitty-cat,” said Rowena. “I got what I needed, so I’m off. Another day, another doorstep! Once I perfect this spell, however, I’ll be living in palaces. You can visit if you want, although you’ll have to take your big muddy boots off at the door.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. How did they know she hadn’t whammied Castiel somehow and stolen all of his grace? It seemed suspicious that he wasn’t here. But Rowena, glancing up at him, seemed to read his thoughts and sighed. 

“Now, really. I know what you’re thinking, Dean, but I haven’t done anything to your darling angel. He gave me a full quarter of his grace, I measured it. And that’s it: transaction over. How can you be so suspicious after all this time and after all I’ve done for you boys? I can stay until you talk to him if you want, but that would be such a bore.”

Dean shot an uncertain look at Sam, who raised his eyebrows. Sure, Rowena had helped them a lot, but they still didn’t trust her. “I’m gonna find Cas,” he said gruffly. “Don’t let her leave.”

Rowena dropped her bags, huffing. “Och, you really think Sam Winchester could stop me walking out of this bunker if I wanted to? You boys! I dinnae know why you’re so hurtful.”

“We’re realists,” said Sam, and walked down the stairs towards her. “If you’ve got nothing to hide, staying for a few extra minutes won’t matter, will it?”

“But the _polar bears_, Sammy! The longer I wait here, the more ice melts under their wee paws!”

And that was the last Dean heard from Rowena before the door closed behind him.

* * *

He found Castiel in a clearing behind the bunker, looking a little worn-out but otherwise hale and hearty. He was building a small bonfire, although as Dean walked towards it, he suddenly realized that it was more structured than that. It was a pyre.

“I thought Betsy should have a hunter’s funeral,” said Castiel, dropping a branch on the mound. 

“That’s a lovely idea,” Dean replied, another wave of sadness hitting him. 

Castiel nodded. “Cats like warmth, too. This seems... fitting.”

Dean fell silent, watching him work. Then he remembered why he was there. “So are you and Rowena quits, then?”

“Quits?”

“Did she get what she needed? Didn’t try to bleed you dry?”

Castiel shook his head. “She took her fair share, as agreed.”

Dean pulled out his phone and texted Sam the words _She’s good to go._ He put it back in his pocket and asked, “Need a hand?”

“Actually, I’m done.” Castiel walked across the clearing, bent to pick up something and returned with Betsy. She was wrapped in a shroud and looked very small. He placed her gently on the pile of sticks and branches and stood back.

“Goodbye, Betsy.”

Dean waited, but that was all. As funeral speeches went, it was hardly memorable. “You were a good cat,” he added as Castiel leaned over to light the pyre. 

“Yes,” said Castiel. 

Dean felt awkward, but also felt he had to continue. “I’m sorry I made fun of you sometimes; I know you didn’t really have any fleas. And yeah, you shed a bit, but Sam leaves hair everywhere too, so I guess that wasn’t a big deal. But mostly... thanks for letting Cas know when I was locked in the dungeon and dying of thirst. And thanks for stopping that crazy angel bastard from murdering me. And... thanks for staying with me and Sam when we couldn’t sleep. You were pretty awesome.”

The pyre was lit. They stood for a while, watching the flames as the sun set around them. 

“Maybe we should get another cat,” Dean murmured to himself. 

“I need some time away,” Castiel said, his voice apologetic. “Just a few days. To decompress. A lot has happened. I need to think.”

Dean sighed, lowering his head. And so the cycle began again. Every time he thought their relationship was in the clear, Castiel would leave. Fuck it, he was so tired of this.

“Sure,” he replied, keeping his voice as even as possible. 

“I am sorry, Dean. I know this has become a habit with me. But I promise you, this will be the last time.”

Dean didn’t look up. “Keep your phone on, just in case we need you.”

“Of course.”

There was a silence.

“Dean–”

“Just go, Cas. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He didn’t watch as Castiel walked away. 

_I’m always here when he gets back,_ he thought. _Because I’m an idiot._

* * *

Dean slept. A lot. More importantly, Sam slept even more than he did: and quietly, with no nightmares. His appetite returned. He started eating meat again. His face regained its color and he laughed more than he’d laughed in months. Everything was good again, barring the absence of their furry friend. 

There was another absence, one which Dean was all too familiar with. One he was starting to think he was going to have to get used to, because Castiel had his grace back and that changed everything. He tried not to think about it, but of course he couldn’t help it – and every time he did, he felt as though he’d lost the world. 

And so, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he decided to get drunk.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked him one night, as Dean started on his seventh beer.

Dean raised the bottle at him in a mock-toast. “Never better, Sammy. Never better.”

His brother regarded him seriously. “Is Cas coming back?” he said eventually, after apparently weighing up the odds of whether it was worth mentioning the angel’s name in Dean’s presence or not.

He took a long swig, wiped his mouth and sighed. “I have no freakin’ clue. But I’ll tell you this: life goes on.”

“Yeah, it does,” said Sam, smiling awkwardly and seeming very young all of a sudden, looking for all the world like the teenager Dean grew up with all those years ago. His eyes were filled with empathy, however, and Dean decided he couldn’t take his pity. 

“Time for bed,” he said abruptly, and left the room. He grabbed another beer on the way.

Sam stared after him. “Life goes on,” he muttered to himself, and looked down at his hands. 

They were clean. 

* * *

On the sixth day after Shemyaza’s death, Dean’s phone beeped. 

_Meet me where we saw the friendly dog,_ said the message.

* * *

It was raining, because of course it was. Castiel was sitting on the bench overlooking the reservoir anyway. His clothes were black and so, from a distance, Dean couldn’t quite see how wet they were – but as he got closer he realized they were drenched. Castiel was too, his hair dripping water in rivulets down the back of his neck. 

“Someone’s really gotta teach you angels about this cool human invention called an ‘umbrella’.”

Castiel looked up at him, blinking water out of his eyes. “I suppose it would behoove me to carry one.”

“_Behoove?_” Dean shook his head, irritated. “Look, if we’re gonna have some kind of life-changing heart-to-heart, I’d rather not have it on this bench while the sky drops an entire ocean on us. Let’s go sit in the car.”

Castiel looked out at the water, considering it, then nodded. “Of course. I just thought this was more traditional, given our history.”

“History, schmistory,” muttered Dean, stalking back to the Impala. It was the only car parked anywhere nearby; the entire place was deserted, and rightfully so. What a shitty day.

Mindful of his Baby, he threw a towel on the passenger seat for Castiel to drip on before sitting down beside him and slamming the door. He waited for Castiel to do the same, then took a deep, steadying breath. He felt as though he should be angry or sad. Instead he was just... resigned. This had gone on for so long and he just didn’t have the energy any more. 

“Come on, then. Out with it,” he said, turning to meet Castiel’s gaze. “I’m pretty sure I can guess what you’re gonna say: you’re either dumping me outright, or you’re going off on some kind of vision quest to find yourself. And either of them is cool, Cas. You do _you_. But me? I can’t handle all this angsting any more. Let’s end this, here and now.”

Castiel looked startled. “Is that what you want?”

“It’s not about what I want, is it?” Dean said, looking away. He wiped his wet hands on his jeans as he spoke, just for something to do with them. “You know what I want, Cas. You always have. I want _us_. But the universe has a big old problem with that, and your head’s been screwed up since, like, forever. And now you’ve got your grace back. You already told me that stops you wanting me in the same way as you want me when you’re human.” He sighed. “So, in a nutshell, it seems that what _I_ want is off the books. But after you left last week I did a lot of thinking, and I guess I’m okay with that.”

“You’d be okay if our relationship ended?”

Dean frowned. “Well, yeah, because it’s going to, isn’t it? Isn’t that what you’re about to tell me?”

Castiel looked confused. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he turned to face the reservoir, still visible in the distance even though the windshield was steaming up.

“I can only imagine what this has been like for you over the past year,” he said. “At first I was such a mess... I needed time to recover from my confinement. Just when I thought I was over it, we met the Sluagh and I remembered... so much... And then your brother went missing. One obstacle after another has been thrown in our path. It’s a miracle we are both still here, together. Through it all, I believe you could say I have ‘strung you along’. I didn’t mean to, Dean, but I genuinely had no idea what I wanted from day to day.”

Dean didn’t say anything. All of that was true. He couldn’t read Castiel’s mind and had no clue where he was going with this speech. He wanted it to be somewhere good, but experience told him that probably wasn’t going to be the case.

“You’re right to claim that getting my grace back complicates matters. I still love you, Dean, but with my grace inside me, my carnal desire for you just... isn’t there.” He shook his head. “And as much as it would help our relationship if I removed my grace and became human, I feel there are more advantages to me staying an angel, particularly with all the threats we so regularly face.”

Dean nodded, a rock forming in his stomach. Of course an angel of the freakin’ Lord wasn’t going to give up his grace and become human just so he could have Dean Winchester. Which meant that this really was the end – their relationship was over. He’d never kiss Castiel again. He’d never fuck him again. He’d never... Christ, could he even be _around_ Castiel now if he wasn’t allowed to touch him? How could he live with that kind of pain?

But Castiel hadn’t finished talking. “Then along came Rowena.”

“Rowena?”

“She took a quarter of my grace for her spell.”

“Yeah... Which means you still have three-quarters. You still have your grace, Cas. Don’t you?”

“It’s strange.” Castiel’s expression softened. “She took just enough for me to feel a little more human. Enough for me to... _feel._”

Dean stared, a jolt of hope working its way through him. “Feel what, exactly?”

Castiel hesitated, just for a moment. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Dean’s. They were cold and wet but the breath behind them wasn’t, and nor was Castiel’s palm as it cradled Dean’s cheek, pulling him closer. They kissed for long enough for Dean to realize that this entire conversation was going somewhere he hadn’t been expecting – somewhere good, Jesus Christ, somewhere _so good_ – and then Castiel pulled away, scanning Dean’s expression hopefully. 

Dean licked his lips. “Remind me to send Rowena a fruit basket,” he said, a little out of breath. 

“I love you.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda gettin’ that.”

“And I want you.”

Dean looked down. He put his hand on the rain-soaked crotch of Castiel’s cargo pants, squeezing gently. “Yeah, I’m gettin’ that, too.” He met his gaze again and grinned. “You sure? You’re not gonna change your mind? You’ve been blowing hot and cold like a hairdryer for so long, man. I just can’t take any more disappointment. Are you definitely in?”

Castiel’s grin turned unexpectedly wolfish. “Can I be _in_ you?”

Dean shivered. It wasn’t from the cold. He still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Cas... Castiel. Do you mean it? Really?” 

“I do.” Castiel leaned forwards, his lips brushing Dean’s ear. “I want to fuck you.”

There were no more words after that: instead there was a flurry of movement as both men hastily removed as many items of clothing as was possible to remove in the cramped confines of the car. As he shed his clothes Dean clambered none-too-gracefully over the back of the driver’s seat; Castiel joined him in the rear of the Impala a few moments later. The space was still too small for them but neither cared as they threw their bodies together, reminding themselves of what they’d been missing all this time. It was warming up inside the car, the windows running with condensation and hiding them from sight, and it wasn’t long before they were inside their very own metal cocoon, kissing and biting and groaning without a care in the world. 

Dean had forgotten so much. He’d forgotten how heavy and solid Castiel was when he was lying on top of him, pressing Dean’s back and shoulders and hips down into the leather of Baby’s seats. He’d forgotten his scent; how his stubble felt against the bristles on his own chin; how his partner would breathe in as he was kissing, sucking Dean’s breath into his own lungs; how he was so gentle and yet there was a power coiled deep inside him that Dean could never entirely forget; how warm he was, even when drenched by chilly winter rain. He ran his hands through wet hair and down Castiel’s muscled back; traced lines along his ribs, cupped his buttocks and pulled him closer, parting his own legs so their groins could meet. They surged together in a rhythm that seemed natural and _right_, kissing the entire time with a ferocity that came from an urgent mutual longing. 

After a while, just as Dean was starting to wonder if they were going anywhere with this, Castiel ran a hand down the outside of Dean’s thigh. He trailed fingers through the hair on his legs, moving down to his calf and gripping him by the ankle. He pushed his entire leg forward and then did the same to the other one, moving Dean’s knees upwards until they were over his chest and then apart. Dean suddenly realized what he was going to do and braced himself.

“I won’t hurt you,” Castiel murmured, sensing him tense. 

Dean shook his head. “I don’t care. I trust you.”

“You trust me...” Castiel seemed a little dazed at the words. Then he lowered his head, nipping at his neck, making Dean shudder. “You are so... you make me... so crazy... but I wouldn’t–”

What he was saying didn’t really make much sense, but Dean got the gist of it and felt a rush of lust. He grabbed Castiel by the hair and pulled his head upwards, stopping when their mouths were level. He kissed him so roughly that it hurt his lips and must have hurt his partner’s; a painful yet pleasant thought, one that excited Dean beyond belief. After a full minute, Castiel made a short, sharp growling noise and jerked backwards. He met Dean’s gaze and smiled dangerously, then lowered his head to lick the hard, expectant penis waiting below him. 

Just as Dean heard a whimper leave his throat at how good it felt, Castiel’s body shifted even further downwards and suddenly the tongue was on his ass, firm and insistent, probing him. Dean gasped as Castiel pushed his legs even further forward and apart, holding them in place by the knees, basically opening him to the world. It was so intimate, so unlike anything Dean had done with women, that it almost made him laugh from the ridiculousness of it. But then Castiel surged upwards onto his own knees, leaning over him. The tongue vanished from Dean’s ass to make room for his cock, which pushed inside him with a force that should have made Dean’s eyes water... 

...Except that he couldn’t feel anything bad. All he felt was pleasure, nothing else, even without any kind of lube, and he gasped in relief and pulled Castiel’s head down for a grateful kiss because having a lover with the ability to take pain away during this kind of sex was fucking _amazing_. 

Castiel half-laughed into his mouth, a joyous sound that Dean filed away to remember later when he needed to hear it again; then his ass was fucked with the kind of strength and urgency that almost made him lose his mind. It wasn’t just brute force. It was erotic. With every thrust Castiel gasped, moaned or whimpered Dean’s name, and if he wasn’t doing that he was groaning out “Yes!” or “Oh!” or just “_Fuck._” He was pounding into him with any kind of control, completely unguarded and unrestrained, and the more powerful his thrusts became the more trouble Dean had staying in place. He finally had to throw out his hands to steady himself against the car door above his head, knees almost under his chin, feeling his spine straining at the awkward position he’d been forced into. The car’s suspension moved beneath them as Castiel jerked and Dean found that he was grinning, loving every second of this despite how undignified it was. Nothing mattered except that this felt incredible. He was where he was supposed to be. He was happy and so was Castiel, who, Dean realized, was getting close to the end. 

He placed a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down so they could kiss. 

“Do it, you sonofabitch,” he growled into his mouth. “_Do it._” 

Castiel made an almost agonized noise. His head snapped back and the inside of the car was suddenly bathed in blue light; Dean snapped his eyes shut and felt the body above his harden, every muscle straining; something hot and wet flared inside him where it never was before, and then it all stopped. 

Castiel collapsed on his chest, a warm, sweaty mess. Dean could finally lower his legs, wincing as his muscles protested. He wrapped them around the back of his partner’s legs gently, then circled his arms around Castiel’s waist. He was still hard himself, his cock trapped between them, and he couldn’t resist trying to thrust upwards despite the awkwardness of their position, attempting to earn some delicious friction as Castiel lay immobile and panting in his embrace.

“You good?” Dean asked, when what he judged was an appropriate amount of time had passed.

“Yes... Dean... Rowena... we’ll send her a fruit basket, definitely.”

Dean laughed, squeezing Castiel’s left butt-cheek. “We’ll both sign the card that goes with it.”

“Uh-huh.” Castiel lay still for a few more moments, then lifted himself onto elbows that were planted either side of Dean’s body. He stared down at him earnestly – so earnestly, in fact, that Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“What?”

“I can’t believe there was ever a time in my existence that I didn’t want to do this. This is so... _perfect_.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “There’s a reason everybody on Earth is obsessed with sex, Cas. This is pretty much the pinnacle of the human experience, right here.”

A hand suddenly materialized on his cock, fingers stroking it gently. “And here’s another pinnacle.”

Dean closed his eyes. “There we go. It’s about time...”

Castiel’s body disappeared from above him and suddenly there was a hot, wet mouth on his dick. Dean groaned, overjoyed, and for the next few minutes there was nothing except for the sound of the rain on the car roof, his own halting breaths and the sound of Castiel’s lips against warm skin. It was sublime. Castiel could suck dick like no woman he’d ever met. He used the right amount of pressure, the right amount of tongue, the right amount of suction. He squeezed just when Dean needed to feel danger. He licked around the head of his cock and nibbled it teasingly. Every now and he’d pull away and wrap his fist around him, twisting and rubbing the shaft so perfectly that Dean made small, desperate noises with each touch. It was like Mozart was playing with his cock, Dean thought. Or maybe Beethoven. Which one was the genius? Were they both geniuses? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that his cock felt like it was–

“Dean?”

He opened his eyes. Castiel was sitting before him, still working his cock with one hand, but he had such a tender look on his face that Dean almost melted. He pulled himself upright so they could kiss, both of them smiling through Dean’s gasps, until his body shuddered and he – irrationally – wanted to wriggle away from Castiel’s fist. “I’m nearly there,” he hissed, putting a hand on top of Castiel’s as it moved, knowing that pushing it away would be stupid when it felt so good, but also wanting to finish himself off because he knew how close he was and what felt right. He began to pant, placing his other hand on Castiel’s bare thigh to steady himself and lowering his head until his forehead hit Castiel’s shoulder.

“Look at me.”

Dean shivered and looked up, meeting Castiel’s gaze. 

“I love you,” said Castiel, the warm flesh of his palm squeezing him in just the right way.

“_Fuck_–”

“I love you.”

“Cas, I can’t–”

The hand did something incredible and Dean groaned, _so fucking close_, and then Castiel was holding the back of his head and kissing him passionately, moaning down his throat. Dean’s entire body shook and he managed to pull his mouth away from Castiel’s for long enough to grind out “_Holy shit, Cas, this is–_” 

And then he came into his partner’s fist so violently that he completely forgot where he was and who he was with for way longer than he’d ever have thought possible without half a bottle of whiskey and many beers beforehand.

“I love you,” said Castiel afterwards, as Dean lay panting in his arms. “I just want to make sure you know that.”

“I know,” returned Dean, his head feeling light and hazy. “Fuck, Cas, that was the best handjob I ever had in my goddamn life.”

“I’ve had a lot of experience.”

Dean felt a pang of guilt and sadness and sat back, still trying to control his breathing. Castiel’s expression didn’t look pitiable, though. Instead he looked serene. 

“You okay?” 

“Yes.” It sounded as though Castiel really meant it.

“Good,” said Dean, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Because we’re doin’ that again the _minute_ I get my breath back. Or at least, the minute Junior’s up for another round, however long that might be.”

Castiel lifted his hand and touched Dean on the forehead; a tiny ripple like an electrical current passed through him. 

“Give it thirty seconds,” said the angel, his eyes flashing.

Dean shook his head in disbelief: knowing Castiel was like knowing walking, talking Viagra. “I love you,” he said, because he really, really did.

Castiel’s face softened. He wiped some wayward hair from Dean’s forehead and smiled, looking innocent and sweet, his eyes warm and twinkling with life. 

“I know,” he said. “Now it’s your turn to fuck me.”

* * *


End file.
